The Love and the Anger
by Comfy Chair
Summary: AU. When they entered the system, Jude was adopted straight away, but Callie had to endure a string of foster homes. After not seeing each other for 10 years, they are finally reunited in the same foster home, only for Callie to be locked up for vandalism. Can Callie learn to live with the horrors of her past and can the siblings learn to bond after being apart for so long?
1. Ch 1 Callie and Brandon's mom

**A/N Thank you for reading my new story. I hope you enjoy it. If you have read any of my other stories, welcome back and thank you for returning. If you are new, I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship :) **

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter one**

**Callie and Brandon's mom**

Take away the love and the anger

and a little piece of hope holding it together.

Looking for a moment that'll never happen.

Living in the gap between past and future.

Take away the stone and the timber

and a little piece of rope won't hold it together.

(Kate Bush)

It was meal time in the Foster house. Everyone was assembled in the kitchen; shouting, laughing, exchanging jibes, placing various dishes and plates on the table. Organised chaos. Callie felt like an audience of one watching a stage play being performed before her. Worse, she was a participant who had forgotten her lines and when her cue was, or had not been given a speaking part and had to sit here whilst the other players weaved around her.

Everyone spoke quickly and over each other. They mingled together; never colliding, but engaged in a dance where they all knew their own marks. She was mesmerised by the beauty of movement, concussed by the sounds, scared by the addictive nature of a family at peace with itself. She wanted to flee for fear of falling in love with something temporary, something wonderful yet with no chance of a follow through. She wanted to stay despite of all that, so she could at least create a happy memory.

Everyone sat down at their assigned place at the large kitchen table, seemingly in unison as though a bell had been sounded. Then a new movement commenced; dishes of different foodstuffs were passed round like port at a captains table. Callie helped herself to mashed potato and peas and broccoli.

Brandon leant near her and started to pour some wine into a glass placed in front of her. Callie reacted suddenly by pulling the glass away. "No!" She surprised everyone.

"It's OK," Brandon reassured with a smile. "It's not a test. We are allowed one glass with dinner."

"I...I don't drink," Callie stuttered looking to the two moms. Her eyes had a look almost of fear; of horror even.

"What, never?" Jesus was slightly incredulous.

"As if that's a bad thing?" Stef glanced in his direction.

"Never," Callie responded locking eyes with Stef. She looked down, unable to hold the gaze. "Never," she repeated more quietly. "Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not have a drink. I'm...I'm sorry."

"No problem, sweetie," Lena rescued her. "I wish my children were as enlightened." Callie did not miss the emphasis on 'my children', however unintentional it was. In other words, she was not one of them.

"Callie, are you OK with us drinking in front of you?" Stef asked her.

"Of course I am...I mean yes, that's fine...thank you for asking."

"Thank goodness for that," Jesus uttered and took a gulp from his glass as though in fear it would be withdrawn. This broke the attention everyone had on Callie and the meal resumed.

Brandon passed a plate containing pork chops. "You do eat meat, don't you?" He asked with a friendly mocking smile.

Not for the first time that evening – her first evening in the Foster's house, did she notice how attractive he was; not just his looks – although they trumped everything, but also his apparent gentleness. It shone like a beacon from his eyes. She feigned a sardonic expression and took one of the chops from the dish, fervently hoping the pause between doing so and the original offer had not been too long. She was only going to be here temporarily; relationships between foster siblings were not allowed; she already had a boyfriend. The order she listed the three excuses preyed on her mind.

After several minutes of being beaten about the head by the scene of family bonding and domestic bliss Callie was near to breaking point. She stood, unintentionally scraping her chair. The stage players went silent; all eyes locked on her again. Brandon stood up as if on cue – all gentlemen stood up when a woman stood, after all. Callie was impressed and found herself emotionally affected in a wondrous way. Again, she hoped her glance at him was not as long as it felt.

"May I be excused?" She asked politely. Politeness was one of the few things she remembered being taught by her mother. She relished exhibiting it when it was merited; hated it when it was not; refused to play the game when it was expected but not deserved.

"But, you've hardly touched your plate," Lena stated. Callie went cold with fear. "Are you OK, dear?" The feeling of relief at the question, so quick after the earlier statement was almost tangible. She could almost believe her emotions were being manipulated, that her limits were being tested, if it were not for the obvious sincerity that exuded from everyone. Everyone had an aura round them signposted with the words 'trust me'.

"I'm fine, thank you. I...I think I need some fresh air. May I sit on the veranda outside?"

"Of course," Stef granted.

"Thank you...the food was very nice...especially the pork chop," she glanced at Brandon to inject an element of humour to ease the mood of the scene. She backed away from the table and made a quick as was politely acceptable exit onto to the veranda, where she collapsed ungainly onto the seat.

She leant forward and cradled her head in her hands. She massaged her eyes, dragged her hands down her face then sat up. She had things she needed to do; people to contact. One person in particular occupied her mind. She had only partly been able to forget him that evening. The blissful theatre production she had just extricated herself from had shielded her from her worse fears for his well-being – and she felt drenched with guilt for allowing something to make her forget. But his image had still been haunting her: his smile; his laugh; his existence in her life after so long being absent. She felt an overwhelming feeling of desperation envelope her. She looked up and only just prevented herself from crying out. It was at that moment Stef chose to invade her privacy.

Callie stood up when the older woman appeared. It was the polite thing to do. "I'm sorry for leaving the room like that. I needed some fresh air and my bruises are still a little sore."

"Don't worry. I just thought I'd check on you; see that you're alright."

"I'm fine. It's kind of you to ask though." Callie pivoted on one foot awkwardly, then sat down when she thought it was OK to do so.

Stef sat along side her. "You know," she started, "You don't have to be so polite. We're quite an informal family...as you probably realise from the chaos inside." She smiled.

Callie juggled distress with a mounting anger. "Do you know how rare it is that I want to be polite to someone? How rare it is that someone warrants me being polite?" She was angry, yet she desperately wanted to make Stef understand. "Lena rescued me today from spending another night locked up, and probably from having fresh bruises on top of the ones I already have. You have all made me feel welcome. Please don't throw my gratitude back at me."

Stef was visibly impacted by the girl's open desire to be accepted and Callie felt immediate guilt. What on earth had made her emote so much?

"I didn't mean to question your sincerity," Brandon's mother – she was not sure why she labelled her thus, took her hands in her own. "Perhaps I am not used to such politeness. I certainly gave up trying top train Jesus years ago," she smiled again.

Stef's smile enveloped Callie. Her voice entwined itself around her and kidnapped her heart. Callie took her hands back and turned away from the glorious torture. She wanted to flee for fear of falling in love with something temporary, something wonderful yet with no chance of a follow through.

Stef stood up. Callie felt relieved. However, Brandon's mom – again why that choice of words, did not leave her alone. "I'm curious," she said, "why no alcohol?"

Callie was bemused at the question. She had a valid reason for not wishing to drink – extremely so, but she was not so at ease that she was going to reveal it. "I just don't like it. It dulls the senses. It...it changes people." That was all she was going to say.

With relief, it appeared Stef was satisfied with the response. "Did you want something to ease the soreness of your ribs?"

"No," Callie replied quickly. Too quickly. Again, for reasons she was not going to reveal here.

Stef appeared to realise she was not going to achieve any sense of bonding this evening. Callie yearned for her to stay, but desperately wanted her to go as well. The conflict in her head hurt. Stef reached the door. "I have a brother," Callie threw into the air in between.

Stef turned towards her. "Older or younger?"

"Younger. He's twelve. He's called Jude."

Stef sat back down next to Callie. "Where is he at the moment?"

"With the same foster father I left two weeks ago. The one whose car I smashed."

Stef must have noticed the catch in her voice; the despairing fear in her eyes. She took Callie's hands again. "Oh, my poor dear, you're scared he will mistreat Jude because of what you did."

Callie snatched her hands back – anger again. "The mind of a suburban housewife never ceases to amaze me. I mean, seriously, is that the order of events your mind chose?"

The mindset of suburbanites always shocked her; made her want to laugh at its predictability. Suburbia filled her with a cynicism beyond her years. The dangerous proximity of the horrific and the ordinary fascinated her when it was not exerting its worse. This may be a city of sunshine and beaches, but turn a corner and you could be in Hell; a desolate landscape of abusive foster fathers, indifference; people who turned the other way. To Callie's eyes nobody was innocent; everybody was implicated.

"Why do you think I smashed the car?" Callie asked – demanded.

"Are you saying you did it because he hurt Jude first?" Callie wanted to embrace Stef when she saw the horror in her eyes at the realisation of what she herself had been reliving for the weeks she had been locked up. "Did you tell anyone?" From the sublime to the ridiculous.

"Of course I did!" Callie was incredulous. "I told everyone," she cried. "Everyone."

"But no-one listened." Stef stated rather than asked.

"I'm fucking invisible." Callie looked away.

"No more, you're not. Callie..." Stef reached over and took hold of the girl's right arm, then gently pulled her round to face her. "You are as important as the next person, and as long as you are in my house you are one of my own."

Callie just stared at her. She did not know whether to hug Stef – was that acceptable? Or flee what was surely a mean joke being played on her.

"Tomorrow we will go and check on Jude, you and I and Lena." Callie felt tears form and fall. "I promise you," Stef gripped Callie's hands tightly. "I promise you he will not spend another night there after tonight if I have any doubt at his safety."

"You would do that...for someone you have never met?"

"For Jude and for **you**."

Callie almost threw herself into Stef's arms.

To be continued.


	2. Ch 2 Callie and Brandon

**Chapter two**

**Callie and Brandon **

You're sweet like chocolate boy

Sweet like chocolate.

You bring me so much joy.

You're sweet like chocolate, oh.

(Shanks and Bigfoot)

Callie felt she had fallen down a rabbit hole. That she was in some kind of bizarro world where children had two mothers, where one of the mothers had an ex-husband, who she worked with! And where they were both police officers. And where the school was on a frigging beach!

The only problem with the Wonderland analogy was the involuntary impulse to assign characters to the main players and she was not that familiar with the story. Jesus was definitely not the doormouse and she had yet to find the Queen of Hearts, thankfully.

The Mad Hatter approached her. Brandon was sweet, sweet as chocolate and she really loved chocolate. But anything between foster siblings was forbidden and she already had a boyfriend – the wrong order of importance she played out to herself was still disturbing. Good grief, she had only met him yesterday! Imagining him with an oversized head and wearing a large hat somehow did not reduce the impact.

"Don't worry," Brandon offered. "The school bell will soon ring and we'll be closer to seeing your brother."

Callie was not grateful for him reminding her of her Jude, although in truth Jude never left her waking mind entirely. Even when she was occupied doing something – something which required concentration, his image flashed behind her eyes like a pulsar.

She was standing by the door to the school, having asked to be excused from her last lesson of the day, citing feeling sick. She had passed Brandon's class on the way to where she was now. It suddenly occurred to her that he must have seen her and himself asked to be excused to see if she was OK. Sweet like chocolate.

Whilst she had wanted to check on Jude straight away – as soon as Stef had said they would last night or at the very least first thing this morning, Stef had persuaded her that it was best to wait until that evening. She and Mike, her ex-husband (!) would then both be on duty. She successfully argued that turning up at Jude's foster home in uniform and on official duty would have a better impact. Callie could not argue the logic of any of it, but it had been a long, agonisingly drawn out day and no Victorian fantasy novel analogies were going to make the wait any less...agonising.

Callie had woken up early that morning, nightmares stealing any chance of going back to sleep. However, her immediate thought on opening her eyes was the night before. She was scared she had jeopardised her place with the Fosters by being over emotional to Brandon's mom -_**Stef! Call her by her name, for crying out loud-**_. No one surely wanted the hassle of a child, who was not her own, crying on their shoulder; being an energy-vampire sucking the life and joy out of a day. Overwhelming self pity could be a bizarre comfort to the sufferer, but to others it could be infuriating. Oh, but it had been so wonderful to open up! And Stef's promise had been a gift from Heaven and Callie did not believe such a place existed, any more than she did Wonderland. Perhaps Callie herself was the Queen of Hearts.

After saying good night to Stef that night, she had ascended the stairs, intending to clean her teeth and face before returning downstairs again to take her place on the couch. She had stopped short, however, on hearing piano music coming from Brandon's room. Curiosity could kill a cat, but she always did rush in where angels feared and, besides, what she invariably found was often worth the risk.

Brandon's room was a glorious example of a comfortable, loving upbringing. It was layered with the years he had spent there: a cherished cuddly toy hidden in the corner from his childhood; a model aircraft gathered dust on a shelf from that time in his life when making models was cool; a poster of a pop star, five years out of fashion, hung on the wall; on his chest of drawers was photo of a beautiful strawberry-blonde girl – so obviously his girlfriend as nothing else was cluttered around it – Callie had felt a brief pang of jealousy and immediately admonished herself for being stupid.

The room's colour scheme was minimalist white behind the clutter. She liked the colour. It was in stark contrast to Mariana's delight in pink – she was not looking forward to waking up to that when she moved upstairs the next day. What was it with girls and pink? Was it pre-ordained on the day of creation? Thou shalt bear the responsibility of the cleaning, ironing and have to endure the pain of childbirth... and, oh yes, pink... with a dash of lilac for that oh so subtle contrast. -_**Good grief, if I could bottle my random thoughts, I could get drunk on a rainy day-.**_

Pride of place in the room, however, was a set of keyboards behind which the elder Foster child sat. Callie was about to leave when Brandon had stopped playing and turned round to her. "Hi," he said kindly.

"I'm sorry," Callie offered as a response. "I didn't mean to disturb you...or enter your room." She added the last when it occurred to her, with horror, that she had walked right in without knocking! -_**But, the door had been open and an open door meant it was OK and...oh, good grief-**_ She then noticed a guitar resting against the wall.

"Do you play?" Brandon asked, rescuing her from her mounting paranoia and her taunting imagination.

She could have kissed him, which surely would have only made matters worse, but places where angels feared to tread were sometimes wondrous and cats had nine lives after all. She resisted the urge, however. "I used to, but seldom get the opportunity," she replied instead.

He reached back and lifted the guitar, then handed it over to her. She hesitated for what seemed like several seconds as though he were offering her a treasure too precious to accept. She eventually took the instrument from him and spent several more seconds lovingly feeling its weight, the smooth woodwork, the tautness of the strings. It was a thing of beauty, which brought back beautiful memories. She released one hand to quickly wipe her eyes and used the other to hand back the guitar to Brandon. He did not reach out for it. "Play something," he said simply.

Callie still held out the instrument -_**please take it from me-**_ "I can't...thank you for the offer." She stood up and laid the guitar against the keyboard and walked out of the room. She entered the bathroom, closed the door and leant against it. She caught her reflection in the mirror hanging over the sink .-_**great, that doesn't confuse matters, does it-.**_

The school bell rang out nearly causing Callie to jump an inch off the ground. Brandon was suitably caught unawares as well. "Come on," he said. "I'll walk you home." He put one arm round her shoulders and used the other to push open the school door, then gently pushed her through the exit first. Thankfully, although not to her relief, he relinquished his hold and walked alongside her.

To be continued.


	3. Ch 3 Callie and Jude

**Chapter three**

**Callie and Jude **

…..but I fear I have nothing to give.

I have so much to lose here

in this lonely place.

Tangled up in your embrace

there's nothing I'd like better

than to fall.

(Fear: Sara McLachlan)

-/-/-/-

Brandon ambushed Callie on the landing as she was exiting the bathroom.

The walk home from school had been almost wordless. Apart from, that is, an awkward apology on her part at walking out of his room the night before. Brandon had not mentioned it, which only made making the apology harder as she had no platform to launch from.

"There's no reason to apologise," he had offered during the journey, "I probably freaked you out."

"Yes, you did, but that wasn't it. I..." It was hard emoting whilst walking at the same time, yet stopping would have lengthened the time it took to get home and she already wished she could fly. "I haven't played a guitar for a long time and I would probably have got really emotional and I had already squeezed my quota of Foster sympathy from your mom earlier," she had rattled off without a comma.

Brandon had smiled causing Callie to stumble slightly.

"I have my own quota allocation," he added to the analogy.

Brandon was now facing her again. "Are you nervous about this evening?"

"Yes. And scared, excited, paranoid and not a little impatient." The last especially. Why did it take everyone so long to get ready? In truth they were actually waiting for Mike to turn up and his and Stef's shift did not start for another 30 minutes, so she was being unreasonable, she knew. She was so lost in her mental rant against the failure of time to elapse faster that she was startled somewhat when Brandon spoke again.

"You must miss your brother a lot," he stated.

Callie glanced quickly in the direction of his voice and just as quickly looked away. She hardly knew Jude, in truth. The two weeks she had been with him before being arrested had not been enough to discover much about his life, his personality...his feelings towards her. She knew how **she** felt. She needed him more than she wanted him, and she wanted him for all time.

"I remember when he was a baby; he would keep waking me up at night crying to be fed. He took my mom's attention away from me; got showered with toys when he could crawl. When he started to walk he would always be in the way as I tried to play. I would always have to look after him, watch him, remember I was the elder, so had to set an example. There were times then that I wished he had never been born."

"But you love him all the same, with a devotion that scares you," Brandon voiced her thoughts for her.

She looked up at him, her eyes misting over. Was it that obvious to him – to everyone? "I am half a person without him. I've been living in the gap between past and future waiting for him." Brandon reached out and placed his hand on her arm. She flinched back. "I'm sorry...I...I didn't mean to get heavy like that."

"Don't ever apologise for doing that. Not to me at any rate."

Callie stepped back and wiped her forehead with her right hand. "This house is going to drive me crazy before I leave it, I swear."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're all so nice to me!" She exclaimed, although not with any malice. "You leave me with nothing to be or get angry at, except the lack of a reason itself."

"Is that so important; the need to be angry, that is?"

"Yes! I don't know how to function without it." She laughed at the absurdity. "Perhaps I'm already crazy. The Mad Hatter in this wonderland."

Lena called from downstairs, breaking the concentration of the two teenagers. Mike had pulled up outside and everyone was ready. Stef and Mike would travel by squad car, with Lena and Callie following in Lena's car.

"Good luck," Brandon offered.

He had offered to accompany them on the journey, but was firmly refused by both the moms. Callie was infinitely grateful for his offer and she convinced herself that was the reason she leant forward now and kissed him on the cheek, before running down the stairs to the front door, which fortunately was open, thus preventing an embarrassing collision.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The house was exactly as Callie remembered it; a nondescript bungalow on the edge of the respectable part suburbia, bordering the edge of the inner city. She climbed out of Lena's car and resisted the urge to run up to the front door – her veins itched with the need to see Jude; to prevent him having to spend a minute – a second more in that house.

Lena closed her car door and walked round to stand alongside her. Callie was grateful for her presence, her body heat. It had been barely two days since Lena had rescued her and here she was doing the same for another child. Callie felt in debt for her own rescue and at a total loss as to how she would repay for tonight. Politeness at the dinner table was absurdly insufficient.

Lena observed Mike and Stef quietly discussing strategy and stood back with Callie waiting for her cue. She then caught Callie's movement out of the corner of her eye. "There he is!" She exclaimed as loud as a whisper could be.

Lena followed the young woman's line of sight and saw what she saw. A young boy was standing in the kitchen. A middle-aged man walked up to him and slapped the boy around the head. The violence was as unexpected as it was shocking. Lena could not believe she had just witnessed it. She turned to Callie and immediately wished she had not.

Callie was rooted to the spot. Her expression was of total devastation. Horror. Despair. Lena reached out and touched her arm, but Callie snatched her arm away. Her expression now was of rage unbound and she charged away from Lena towards the side of the house. Callie knew the side entrance was always unlocked when someone was still up.

"Callie!" Lena shouted knowing it was a vain hope of getting a response. She doubted Callie even heard her voice. "Stef!" She opted instead as a follow on. Her partner and Mike responded immediately. Stef ran in Callie's direction and Mike went for the front door. Lena stayed back, which was what they had all planned and she felt she should at least comply even if Callie had not.

Callie yanked open the side door and pushed through the insect guard. She charged at the foster father, not slowing her approach as she got closer. The distance between door and him allowed the man to recover sufficiently. He swept his right arm out wide and slapped Callie as soon as she was within distance to hit home. She stumbled back and to the side, almost falling over. In one fluid motion she recovered and charged again. This time he caught her by the shoulders and shoved her back. Callie was slung across the room, falling over backwards and colliding with a dining chair.

She would have stood up and charged again, but the man opened the drawer to a side table and pulled out a gun. At what seemed like the very same moment, Stef ran into the kitchen and the front door was kicked off its hinges to reveal Mike. Both police officers had their arms out stretched in front of them with their guns pointing forward. "Police! Drop the weapon!" Stef shouted into the deathly silence.

Callie did not wait to see justice done. She pulled herself to her feet and ran to Jude's side. The whole event had passed in seconds and he had not had time to move from the spot he had occupied when she had charged in. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the house on to the outside lawn.

Callie held Jude at arms length, held his head in her hands and looked into his eyes. She saw the abject terror there, but chose to ignore it. "Are you OK?" She demanded of him. He looked back at her and

nodded vigorously. She pulled him into a hug and silently held him tight until Lena approached them both.

Callie slowly pulled herself away from her brother, although she kept one hand on his arm. "Jude, this is Lena. She is going to look after you," she said before she slumped to the ground unconscious.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Stef and Lena stood up at the same time as the doctor approached them. Callie had regained consciousness in the ambulance and seemed fine, but advice from a man in white was always preferable to any evidence of their own unqualified eyes.

"She's fine," he said straight-away before he even got up to the two women.

"Do you know why she collapsed?" Lena asked.

"Very likely exhaustion. Stress as well. We've hooked her up to a protein drip as she was also showing signs of slight malnutrition." He looked down at his notes.

"When can we take her home?" Stef enquired.

"Probably tomorrow will do. That's a Friday," he paused. "I should think she'll be fine for school again on the Monday."

"Did you check her bruises?" Asked Lena.

"We gave her the usual x-rays and scans. There is no concussion and the body bruises are superficial...so to speak. They'll be sore still for a few days, but will dissipate soon after. We tried to administer a painkiller, but she was adamant she didn't want any drugs - quite forceful even. I have been told by child welfare...a gentleman by the name of...Bill?" Stef and Lena nodded. "He said it was fine to let you take the boy home with you tonight, although we can make up a bed for him if he wants to sleep near his sister."

The two moms thanked the doctor and entered the small side room to Callie's room proper. They found two teenagers, a girl and a boy, standing in there looking through the glass wall, observing Callie in bed with Jude sitting on a chair alongside. They both turned round on hearing Stef and Lena enter.

The girl walked up to Stef and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Natasha. I'm a friend of Callie's and this is Ryan her boyfriend."

Stef was happily surprised to find Callie had a friend, but slightly wary of the boyfriend, who appeared older and not the type she would have let Mariana date. He was wearing motor cycle leathers and had a small tattoo on his left hand. "How did you know she was here?" She asked.

"Callie called us...I mean she called me and I called Ryan. She and I have lived in the same children's home...on and off, for ten years." She added sensing the unease in Stef's voice. She reached out her hand to Lena to shake. Ryan shook hands with both of the women. "She looks well," Natasha offered turning round and facing the glass again. "I can't thank you enough for what you did this evening." She brushed tears from her eyes.

"Yes," Ryan spoke at last. "Thank you. It's been a frustrating two weeks waiting for Callie to be released. Nat has been looking out for Jude at school, but neither of us could whilst he was in that house."

Lena and Stef were moved by the tiny support network set up round Jude, and humbled by the need for teenagers to do such a thing when it was the role of adults. "Are you in the foster system yourself?" Lena asked Ryan.

"I have been, but I'm 18 now so am out in the real world. I have a small apartment..." he noticed Natasha's expression change – so did the two moms. She obviously wanted an element of caution rather than full disclosure to two people they did not know well enough. "I know enough of what Callie and Nat have gone through."

Natasha suddenly placed her hands on the glass and held her face close. "Oh, Ryan," she cried. "She just laughed." She turned to Ryan. "Our beautiful Callie just laughed." She was crying and the two moms noticed that Ryan had tears too. Natasha then flung herself at Stef, enveloping her in a hug. "Thank you," she cried into Stef's shoulder. "Thank you. It's been so long since I saw her laugh." She backed away, wiping her eyes and looking down sheepish. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overpower you like that." Stef had a sudden sense of deja vu - Callie had almost emoted the exact same thing the night before.

"You two must be very close," Lena rescued.

"We are. I arrived at the children's home three months after Callie. She took me under her wing, despite only being six. I am actually a couple of months older than her. I was lost and scared and she protected me from being bullied, showed me the ropes, so to speak. She has been the only steady part in my life."

Lena thought of Jesus and Mariana and the life they had lived as her adopted children, as opposed to languishing in a home awaiting someone to take them on. She looked at Callie and Jude through the glass wall. "They both seem to love each other," she observed, releasing Natasha from her need to elaborate further about her own life, although she was willing to listen.

Natasha regarded the two moms carefully. "Do you know their history?" She ventured.

"Only that they were both together in that foster home before Callie was arrested," Stef answered. Natasha looked to Ryan, who nodded – again the mini support network shone out, and then glanced back at Callie. "You don't have to tell us anything...reveal any secrets, if you don't want to," she offered the young woman.

Natasha faced her again and looked to Lena too. "There is a lot I definitely won't say...not without Callie's permission. But you should know about her and Jude." She pivoted from one foot to the other as she composed her thoughts. "They both entered the system ten years ago after their mom died. I don't know too much about her dad. Callie was six and Jude two. Jude was adopted straight away, but Callie...wasn't. Jude's adopted parents were killed in a car crash six months ago. As there were no other relatives, he was put back into the system again...at our home. Then about a month ago they were both fostered by the same guy. Two weeks later Callie was arrested for vandalising his car." She waited for her words to sink in. "Callie went ten years without seeing Jude and I know she counted every day they were apart."

Stef and Lena could not fathom what that must have felt like. Jesus and Mariana constantly fought, but they would be devastated if parted. The thought of separating them into different homes was unthinkable. Horrific. Cruel beyond measure.

"Thank you, Natasha," Lena said. "You were right; we did need to know that. Did you both want to go in and speak to her?"

"Yes please."

Ryan opened the door to Callie's room and entered first. Stef called Natasha back. "Natasha...is Ryan a good person...would you trust him?" She asked the girl.

Natasha hid her annoyance at the question quickly, if not totally successfully. She was wise enough to know the reassurances adults wanted – needed. "Yes he is. They have been together for two years." She walked to the door, but turned round again. "Callie has been through some bad times, which I cannot reveal the details of because she has never told even me about them - and she tells me everything. But I did see the after effects and Ryan was there to help. He brought her through them...I can't say anything else." The two moms released her from her invisible chain with a smile and she entered the room to join the other children.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

From the other side of the glass Callie and Jude chatted quietly; both treading carefully for fear of sinking in unseen quicksand.

"The doctor said you could sleep in here tonight, if you wish," Callie ventured. "If you didn't want to go to the Fosters' straight away."

"That's OK, I don't mind going. They seem nice."

Callie held back a pang of disappointment. "They really are. You'll love Brandon."

The conversation remained just as stilted until she offered a smile to something her brother said. Jude suddenly smiled in return – his attention taken by the audience on the other side of the glass. Callie had successfully forgotten about them until that moment. It felt too much like being in the children's home when prospective parents visited to select candidates for adoption – when all the children had been expected to be in the yard for inspection like dolls in a toyshop.

"What're you smiling at?"

"They all suddenly got excited when you smiled just now."

"Really?"

"Yea. Do it again and watch."

"I can't just smile on cue." She laughed though.

"There! They really loved that."

"Stop it!"

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Stef turned over in bed and woke up instantly when she realised Lena was not lying alongside her. She saw her partner was sitting up, cradling her head in her hands. "What's up, dear?"

Lena turned round and even in the faint light Stef could tell she had been crying. "I can't get the vision of Callie's face out of my head...the way she looked when she saw her brother get hit." Stef sat up and wrapped her arms round her. "I've never seen a child so destroyed. See the hope and joy stripped away to bareness so completely. And the look of hatred that followed; the desire to exact revenge on the bastard, was almost worse – not quite, but almost. Oh, Stef I want to go back several hours and wipe the scene from my memory."

"I didn't see any of it happen, but I'm pretty sure I would have reacted the same as Callie...and I have a gun. And I'm sure you would have too. Darling, she acted like a parent."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie was checked out of the hospital late the following evening. The whole family plus the new guests were seated round the large kitchen table finishing a delicious meal; the tastiest and most generous Callie had ever had, except perhaps those served up by her own mother, which were a faint memory now. Jude sat across the corner of the table to her and she afforded several glances at him. He never appeared to look at her, or at least she did not catch him doing so. He appeared content, not nervous, not unsure.

As much as she had enjoyed – relished the meal, it had been an uncomfortable event. She felt like she and Jude were in a bubble or behind glass with everyone else catching glances at them; these two exotic creatures captured from the wilds of beyond-the-front-door, now on show for study.

"I could cook everyone a meal tomorrow," Callie found herself offering to her own horror. Anything to break the feeling of being an exhibit on show.

"You cook?" Brandon jumped in, to Callie's relief when it looked as though noone else was going to respond, as though they were in shock that the wild child could speak. Mind you, he did not have to sound so shocked at the prospect.

"Yes, I can," she replied with mock affront. "You could help, if you want."

"Oh no, sweetie," Lena spoke up. "You really don't want that."

Jesus laughed out loud. "Ha, remember Thanksgiving dinner 2010?"

"And Christmas dinner 2011," Mariana added.

"Yea yea, ha ha," Brandon smiled despite being the brunt of his siblings jibes.

Everyone laughed. Jude giggled. Callie watched her brother with a joy made manifest by a smile which almost changed her whole face – Lena noticed. "What were you thinking of cooking?" She asked.

"Lasagne...or pretty much anything pasta based."

"I should warn you that Lasagne is one of the family favourites – you're going to have to make a lot of it."

"That's OK."

"Fresh mince or canned?"

"Fresh...can you actually make it with canned?"

"No. You've passed the test. I'll go to the meat market tomorrow."

Stef stood up and walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two large apple pies for dessert. "So, Callie," she said as she sat down. "Natasha seems like a good friend."

"She is. The best."

"She said you both lived at the same children's home."

Callie's expression briefly changed to worry – fear almost. "Yes. She arrived a few months after me. I was in a pretty bad way." She looked to Jude. "She picked me up and carried me for the next ten years."

"And Ryan?"

"He saved my life," she said simply. Callie was getting annoyed at the unsubtle probing. She locked Stef with a quick stare which spoke 'enough was enough', then turned away and cut a portion of pie, placing it onto Jude's plate smiling.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It was night time. Callie kissed her brother on his forehead. "I'll be up later to see you are OK."

"That's alright, you don't have to. I'll see you in the morning."

Callie watched her brother climb the stairs, her arms wrapped round her body. Her eyes followed him to the top and held on the vacant space when he disappeared from view. She did not blink. Eventually she looked down at her feet. Several more seconds later she turned round and walked back into the kitchen. Stef was sitting at the table. Callie sat across from her and fixed her attention to the space six inches in front of her.

"He's a lovely boy," Stef offered.

"He's so beautiful," Callie countered without extending her attention to the voice. "My beautiful, beautiful Jude." She wiped her eyes of tears only to have more fall. "And he's all mine." She finally stemmed the tears. "No one else's," she uttered with a determination that shocked Stef. Callie looked to the kitchen door, as if following an invisible trail left by her brother. "But, he doesn't love me...he doesn't love me."

"Hey, kiddo," Stef placed her hand on Callie's. "Callie, dear." She finally turned towards her. No tears, but instead a look of lost hope which felled the older woman. Stef was glad she was sitting. "Of course he loves you," she almost pleaded.

"Oh, I know he loves me as a brother should love a sister, but he doesn't feel the overpowering, all encompassing love that I hoped he would have. I'm not surprised, really I'm not. He doesn't know me. He doesn't remember me. I'm just this teenager who looks at him strangely, who happens to be his sister too."

She closed her eyes. Stef tightened her grip on her hands.

Callie opened her eyes and locked them on Stef. "I recognised him as soon as I saw him again, even after all the years apart. He has Mom's eyes and some of Dad's mannerisms – and I can barely remember Dad." Tears flowed again. "I shouldn't be selfish. He lost the only parents he's known barely six months ago. And they were wonderful to him – I've seen the photos; ten years of happy memories. And barely two weeks in my world he is beaten then left alone with the devil himself." She cried in anger. She pulled her hands away from Stef's hold. "I have no album to show him; no pictures of days on the beach, at the fun fair; opening presents. I have no happy memories to regale him with except PG-rated ones with Ryan. I could almost hate him for the life he has lived." She looked back to Stef. "My life has been...awful...truly awful."

Stef stood up and walked round the table to sit alongside Callie. The girl looked at her. "They took him away from me and left me on my own for ten years!" She railed at her carer. "What right did they have to do that? To me... to anyone?" Callie stood up and backed away, then turned away. She vigorously wiped her tears away; scrubbed her eyes in defiance at everyone who had caused her hurt. No-one was innocent. Everybody was implicated.

"You have every right to be angry," Stef sided. In truth she was angry herself. The thought of Jesus and Mariana being split up horrified her again.

"I'm always angry," Callie said quietly. She turned round to face the foster mom again. "Stef, I am angry...all of the time," she uttered in despair. Stef's heart broke. "I don't know if it has kept me alive all these years, or if it's slowly killing me – drip by drip like torture. I am angry all of the time and it's... it's exhausting." Stef stood and made to approach her. Callie stepped back. "And don't tell me it's because I'm a teenager," she challenged. "That's a horrible cliché. After all, Brandon and the twins are always happy. So happy I want to scream at them sometimes!"

Callie stared at Stef, silent for several seconds. She allowed her to approach her and take her hands in her own. "Make it go away," she pleaded to Brandon's mom. "Please make it go away."

Stef took Callie into her arms and let her weep ten years worth of hurt and the perceived unrequited love of a brother.

To be continued.


	4. Ch 4 Callie and Ryan

**Chapter four**

**Callie and Ryan**

It's just you and me

on my island of hope

Breath between us, could be miles

Let me surround you

My sea to your shore

Let me be the calm that you seek

(I Love You – Sarah Mclachlan)

-/-/-/-

Was Stef an angel?

Was Callie dead and in Heaven and Stef and Lena the gatekeepers? They had both taken her in, no questions asked. They were slowly stripping away the ugliness that surrounded her. She was being sheltered in an Emerald City of a home with a cast of characters so vividly written they had their own colours. She would forgo ever wearing red shoes to avoid returning to her former black and white existence.

Or was she comatose somewhere and the Foster's home a conjuring of her mind, made up of everything she had ever wanted – two new brothers of hilariously different temperaments and a sister. A sister! And a place for Jude to be safe and to flourish after the heartbreak of losing his adopted parents, and after the hell of the last few weeks.

Despite her fear that Jude did not mirror her own sibling devotion, Callie could not relax her mind from the constant need to see him happy and safe - to see him, period. It was a glowing ember, burning hot, burning slow and deep within her. She was shaken by the violence of existing only for him.

Callie was finding her all-encompassing anger being slowly lifted, albeit **very** slow – she wasn't morphing into Pollyanna just yet. There was still a backlog of anger that required a whole department of its own to handle, before she could greet the world with a smile, instead of wanting to scratch out its eyes.

She felt guilty for considering replacing happiness for her constant melancholy – it was not an easy consideration. She was so saturated by her past. It undercut her, weighed her down and bubbled under the surface. The guilt stemmed from her feeling of deserting her friends. Natasha was the perfect embodiment of a sister. Mariana was so wonderfully girly and oh so young! But Natasha was everything. Callie had no words to do her justice. Perhaps the Japanese had a beautiful one-image phrase which perfectly covered the bond they had.

Before Jude had miraculously, if tragically, re-entered her life, Callie had planned to seek emancipation. She would then have moved in with Natasha, who had already been emancipated. Their boyfriends would have moved in with them too; one self contained unit of like-minded, similarly-wounded souls supporting each other and defying the world's intent to keep them down.

But Jude **had** re-entered her life. Where before there had always been a void, there was now a glowing ember!

There was also Ryan. Her beautiful saviour.

Sadness and beauty often travel together and can be exceedingly difficult to tell apart when viewed through a haze of self pity. Ryan held up a crumpled mirror of her yearnings and fears and self-torment, but with a silvery shard of beautiful light poking round its edge.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

**Two years ago**

Callie didn't scream when he hit her the first time, nor the second. The horror was not in the violence – not this time, since it was not the first time she had been on the receiving end of a drunken rage – she hated alcohol with a passion! Physical bruises healed. No, the horror lay in the inaction of a foster mother when a foster father decided to use their monthly pay cheque from child services as a punch bag. Horror was being beaten outside a house in full view of passers-by. A lesser person would die inside from such indifference. This was Callie's 7th home, so she was hardened...to some extent. Anger and hatred kept her sane. Anger of the inaction of bystanders.

This time, however, it was hurting. She felt panic well up inside. Normally a beating was brief - an act of frustration by someone disappointed with their lot in life, which only violence could assuage. A mid life crisis in physical form. But this self-pitying bastard was not going to stop.

Callie wasn't afraid of dying – she just didn't want to.

The onslaught ended so suddenly it took several seconds to recover. She lay on the grassed front garden looking up at a complete stranger looking down at her. The foster father lay sprawled on his back several feet from her, seemingly unconscious. Blood trickled from one of his nostrils. She checked her own hands, which confirmed she had not exacted the blow which caused the wound. She returned her attention to the stranger again and only then noticed he could only be slightly older than she was. She put her hand over her mouth, but failed to prevent herself from giggling manically.

Her saviour held out a hand and she grabbed it. He pulled her up. She staggered slightly from the throbbing of her bruises, but neither party relinquished their hold.

"Are you OK?" The boy asked. She nodded – too stunned to speak. He was quite beautiful – in reality, not in the haze of hero worship. "Do you want to call the cops?" He asked.

"No." That seldom achieved anything satisfying. It was only then she noticed he was wearing motor bike leathers and there was a bike parked a few feet behind him. "Could you take me somewhere?"

The boy took her back to the children's home. Another young girl came running out to meet the two of them. The two girls hugged.

"Are you back to stay?" The other girl asked.

"Yes...until the next time." Callie turned to the boy. "This is my friend Natasha. Nat, this is my white knight."

"Ryan...my name is Ryan."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

**18 months ago**

Ryan laid Callie down onto his bed, careful not to panic her with the change from the security and warmth of his arms. She had relinquished her tight grip of him only briefly to enable him to lift her off the back of his motorbike and carry her up the flight of stairs to his apartment - a one-room studio.

Ryan now sat in his armchair watching his girlfriend. He could still smell her scent on his leather jacket. She was rolled up foetus-like; her eyes open, staring across the room at nothing. He counted the seconds and held his breath until she finally blinked, then held it again until the next time. Her jeans were coated with still-damp blood – not hers, but that of her latest foster mother. He concluded Callie must be in shock. Hell, **he** was in shock. He could not believe what he had just seen. What Callie must have witnessed.

Callie should not have seen what she did that evening. She should not have had to experience what she had her whole life; rejection from seven different foster families and now having to be rescued from the 8th. She was always outwardly confident - over compensating of course, but she was still just 14. Hell, he was only 16. "I'm not so tough," Ryan said out loud. He looked around suddenly as though someone else had spoken.

He continued to stare at the girl on his bed. She who had occupied his thoughts for months now. Some of his friends had told him to drop her - foster girls were trouble. Another friend had told him they were easy. Not for the first time did Ryan consider he really needed to find some new friends. Natasha and her boyfriend, Josh were OK though...and Callie.

Ryan came out of his revery. _**oh God**_ his mind panicked. He must do something. He stood up, looked from Callie, who appeared even smaller from the extra height it afforded, to his front door, to the far wall, scattered with posters. He delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

"What are you doing?"

Ryan flinched in shock at the sound. Callie was sitting up, her legs pulled up tight to her body and her arms wrapped round them. Her fear shouted at him, the terror in her eyes scared him, as though he could see what she had witnessed that day re-played on her retinas.

"Don't call the children's home, please don't phone them," Callie pleaded desperately. "They'll blame me. They'll say it was my fault."

"I'm calling 911!" Ryan interrupted, more loudly than he had intended, but necessary to halt the hysterics building up.

He felt immediately guilty as Callie flinched and pressed her back hard against the wall for support. Beating back the wave of self-disgust he felt rise in his stomach, Ryan dialled 911. He reported everything that he perceived to have happened before he had arrived at the house, when he had heard Callie screaming from inside the building. He omitted to mention that he had found Callie there. He then discarded the phone. He would have to dispose of it to avoid being traced, but he had stolen it two days before, so wasn't bothered.

He afforded a glance at Callie. She had returned to her foetus position. The catatonic state, he hoped, was her body's way of protecting itself from confronting, accepting the reality, of what she had gone through, had witnessed, only an hour earlier.

He looked down at her again. She was only 14, he 16. What was the world like outside of this dingy apartment? It was only a random thought, but he walked up to the window and pulled open the blinds. Light flooded in. He saw again that Callie was a beautiful young woman, with long dark hair to match the dark gaze she gave to everything – immediate and direct. It was dismaying to see her this upset – he never got used to it. It contrasted too sharply with her beauty – the way she would put a finger on his arm and make him want to be no where else.

He approached the bed. Callie was back to staring at a blank space in front of her. But she then followed his approach as he sat down on the mattress, facing her. She made eye contact and stared at him. He remembered the first scream he had heard when he pulled up on his bike outside Callie's latest foster home. It was the second scream, however, which he was finding hard to cope with. The first had been a manifestation of abject terror – it chilled him, made worse by not knowing what it was that caused it. The second scream had been the sound of lost hope; the dashing of a dream – another dream.

Callie was so afraid of getting hurt and rejected, despite both being constant companions. She put up so many walls; only occasionally allowing others – Ryan and Natasha to see in her eyes what her body language disguised as indifference. But that shield had lowered more recently. She had been looking forward to this latest foster posting. She had been cruelly let down only weeks before when a couple had visited the children's home and chosen a boy, having 30 minutes earlier selected her instead. This latest posting, so soon after that heartbreaking humiliation, had raised her up again. It may have been her 8th family, but it had proven she was still 'marketable'; not a lost cause to be left to languish until the state no longer felt responsible for her.

Callie's eyes had now changed from fear to a childlike trust at being in his presence, which terrified him – he was no one to be relied upon. He brushed of the feeling, however, and carefully put one arm under legs, the other around her body. Gently he stretched her out so she lay flat on her back. He laid down beside her. Callie edged closer and rested her head on his chest. She fell asleep; the scent of leather jacket and body heat making her feel safe.

When she awoke in the early hours of morning screaming in the darkened room, she was immediately enveloped in Ryan's arms and held tight. After several seconds she looked up and into his eyes. She kissed him passionately, longingly, desperately. Ryan held her at arms length. "Why?" Callie asked genuinely confused, and hurt. She had wanted this moment since they had met six months before – since he had rescued her from her drunken foster father – foster home number seven.

"Go back to sleep," Ryan chose to reply. She was only 14. He was only 16. Surely some experiences were worth waiting for – should be used to create a beautiful memory of itself rather than be an act used to forget something ugly.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie had buried the memory of her 8th home so deep that even now thinking about it again elicited only vague cloudy images. Thankfully. For such a wonderful promise of a good home to have ended so horrifically was an open wound. It would have destroyed the strongest person. She had made Ryan promise never to speak of it to anyone, even Natasha. She now readied herself for a visit to the police station with Stef, to make a report about what happened at home number 9.

to be continued.


	5. Ch 5 Callie and other heroines

**Many thanks to Raelyn723 for letting me use 'ohmysweetgoodness' – it's taken me nearly three months to use it, but I am very grateful.**

**Chapter five**

**Callie and other heroines **

Bella Swan had it easy. And Katniss Everdeen was lucky – she got to kill her enemies.

Callie used to dream of herself being a heroine from a young adult novel. One who stumbles into a world of supernatural battles between good and evil, where **all** the male protagonists are gloriously, unfeasibly handsome and have good hair. She would meet an intense yet beautiful boy (good hair optional), or two, who fall in love with her and wish to protect her from all that would do her harm. But, although Ryan fulfilled his part admirably – superbly even, the other characters in her life failed to conform to the standard required; fought dirty and nasty and seldom received their comeuppance.

It was quite disappointing really. Painful and humiliating.

Callie closed the front door behind her and leant against it. One more hurdle negotiated. She meant the visit to the police station to report the assault at the foster home two nights previous, as opposed to crossing the threshold of the Foster house. She smiled involuntarily. She then noticed music coming from upstairs; Brandon was playing something mournful on his piano. It was quite lovely, if wildly inappropriate for the mood she was in, although it was mood-shifting in its intensity.

Stef walked ahead towards the kitchen. "Are you going to tell me about the lift incident or leave me hanging with suspense?" She asked without turning around. The lift at the station had stalled briefly, drowning everyone in total darkness. When the power had returned, Callie was squeezed into the corner, a look of fear in her eyes. "I should warn you, I skip to the end of novels and search out spoilers." Stef added from the other room.

Sharing had never been a favourite pastime of Callie's. She resented having to split a chocolate bar let alone having to recount her past life. She had attempted to formulate a lie during the journey home – did she just think 'home'? She must be slipping. No satisfactory fabrication came to mind. In truth she seldom lied. The truth could be a sharp weapon if used skilfully enough – it could hurt feelings and blunt the attempts of others to hurt back. Katniss was the one with slings and arrows. Callie was left with just words. Besides, Stef deserved honesty.

She entered the kitchen to find Stef leaning her back to the sink, an expectant look on her face. Callie truly believed all her children succumbed to that look, and willingly did so. Why on Earth would anyone **not** want to open up to her? Stef's kind eyes could melt the heart of the hardest cynic. She wondered if she ever needed to use her gun to persuade, but the vision of two nights ago made her suddenly go cold. She immediately warmed up again when Stef smiled and raised her eyebrows for her to start talking.

"I don't like enclosed spaces," Callie opened. "Dark enclosed spaces," she added quickly. Lifts were fine, when bathed in bright light. Where the power failed was another matter. The resulting pitch black replaced all memory that she was only in a lift rather than...not a lift; the memory that you are actually standing next to someone you know and trust rather than something Riddick would run from; the memory that you are now sixteen and living somewhere safe and not seven years old and...not.

"Are you claustrophobic or is it just lifts?" Stef asked.

"No and …...no. It's being locked in cupboards mainly. Especially if there is a dog standing outside that barks every time I move, and an owner who threatens to hit me with his belt later for every bark I cause."

The truth could also be a doubled-edge sword and could hurt where it was not intended. Callie certainly did not feel better for it – the pain of the memory and the horror in Stef's eyes made her want to reverse time and try again for a lie. Brandon's playing prodded her subconscious.

Stef was wonderful enough not to question Callie further. Instead she nodded her head in understanding and took a deep breath. "So, are you ready for tonight's cooking challenge?" She blessed by changing the subject. "I should say that the whole family is looking forward to your lasagne. Jesus missed breakfast this morning so as he could better saviour it."

"So, total pressure then."

"Yes, and all on you," Stef confirmed with a smile, which Callie thought was especially cruel …..and lovable.

Bella definitely had it easy.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie looked in on Jude in the bedroom he was now sharing with Jesus. He quickly hid a sketch pad he was writing on when she poked her head around the door.

"Hi," she announced herself. "Everything OK?"

"Yes, fine...thank you."

The pause before the last words added another layer to Callie's growing paranoia, but she smiled it off. The music soundtrack from behind clawed at her. "D'you want to do something later?"

"No, that's OK. I have some homework to get done. And I want to prepare myself for tonight's dinner." He smiled - with the innocence of someone twice his age!

The whole world was against her, surely. She yearned for a large wardrobe hung with fir coats and with a snowy backdrop to it, to escape into. Susan and Lucy had it easy - the unsubtle religious allegory of their lives notwithstanding.

She was about to enter her and Mariana's room when she stopped still on the landing. _**oh, good grief**_ she thought. She walked up to Brandon's open doorway and stood in the threshold. He had his back to her while he played his continuous sad melody on his piano. She coughed. He stopped playing – she felt a suffocating veil had been lifted. He looked around – Stef's eyes and smile confronted her and almost made her run - almost made her enter his room uninvited and endanger her presence in the house – Jude's safety was an afterthought!

"Are you OK?" She asked. He gave her a curious expression as a reply. "I mean, is everything alright with you...nothing bothering you, or you want to talk about?"

"I'm fine, Callie."

"Good...that's good."

"It was good of you to ask. As a random query, though, it was...odd."

"As long as you are feeling fine," she persisted, "could you please play something more upbeat...less gut-wrenchingly sad?" She pleaded melodramatically.

"On one condition."

"Seriously?" She was incredulous. Katniss was definitely lucky.

"No, of course not," Brandon laughed. "But, you could pick up the guitar and play something with me."

What harm could that do? Callie crossed the threshold into his room and picked up the instrument.

-/-/-/-/-/-

While the two older 'siblings' were playing, Jude crept across the landing and downstairs. He found Lena loading the refrigerator with a large bag of minced beef and fresh pasta.. "Lena," he announced his presence. She turned around to his voice. "Could you please do something for me?"

"Of course, dear. What can I do?"

He handed the foster mother an A4-sized piece of paper with lines of writing on it.. "Could you please type this and get it framed for me? It's for Callie's birthday...I can do extra chores to pay for the cost," he added quickly.

"You don't have to do that..."

"Yes I do, or it it will be from you, not me."

"OK," Jude's smile felled her. "When is her birthday, by the way?" She asked, partly to cover her reaction.

"In three weeks. Is it good enough?" He asked pointing to the words on the paper. "Will she like it?"

In truth Lena hadn't actually read the words yet. She looked down and read them. And read them again.

"Ohmysweetgoodness," she said through revealing tears. "Oh, Jude, believe me, she will love this."

"Don't tell or show anyone else." Jude entreated.

"Of course." He seemed satisfied. "Jude...I think I should get this sheet framed instead of typing it. Your handwritten copy would be appreciated more."

"OK," he agreed trusting her judgement completely.

He turned around and left Lena floundering in a beautiful moment, with a faint soundtrack of piano and guitar.

To be continued.


	6. Ch 6 Callie solo

**Chapter six**

**Callie solo**

Coffee shops and book shops were sanctuaries against life and the crap it tended to make her endure. Coffee shops **in** book shops were inspired. If anyone deserved deifying or, at the very least, having a statue erected in their honour, it was the guy (or girl?) who had first suggested the two go together so well.

It was Monday afternoon after school and Callie was sat in a window seat of a coffee shop inside a book shop. It was on the second floor of the building and afforded a view over the beach.

She liked to sit in coffee shops. In pause mode. She sometimes wondered if she lived life too fast and if pausing occasionally made time for life to catch up, or if she lived it too slow and, by pausing, it enabled life to come around again for her to jump on and ride.

She sipped her coffee. Callie hated alcohol with a passion unbound and drugs filled her with terror – she avoided even taking painkillers because they masked reality. Her weakness was chocolate...and caffeine. Caffeine consumed in coffee shops. She suspected parents tried to stop their children drinking coffee too young to prevent them discovering the joys of Starbucks, thus preserving them for themselves – a haven for adults only, while teenagers took over the rest of the world.

The day had started on an off key, which unfortunately did not refer to Brandon's playing. She had endured a bad dream during the night and, when she emerged from the bathroom un-refreshed, she was unprepared and unwilling to play along with Brandon's cheerfulness – it was Monday morning for goodness sake, so it was unreasonable to expect too much in the first place! He had made a smart remark – probably, and her response had elicited a comment that she was too cynical and a negative person.

She had wanted to pummel his chest with her fists, but suspected he would have grabbed her wrists and pulled her close, allowing her to bury her head on his shoulder and cry. He would then have pulled her away to arms length. They would have then locked eyes. They would have then kissed tentatively, then passionately...As romantic clichés it was one of the best -_**good grief, woman, get a hold of your imagination – and strangle it to death-.**_

She did not stomp down stairs afterwards, oh no, especially with Brandon so close behind her.

An argument had been brewing in the kitchen and was now full on by the time the eldest children entered. Mariana wanted to stay out until 11pm that night, but Lena was unmoved by her entreaties and insisted on the usual 9pm. This was so unfair because Sunita was going to stay out the extra hour, and Caroline and Marisa. Luck Lucy had no allotted curfew, apparently. Mariana then tried to involve the others by orchestrating a vote as to what was a fairer time.

"If I wanted a democracy," Lena had responded, "I would have bought a round table."

Mariana then stormed out of the kitchen with the grace of someone who had temporarily misplaced it.

"She was such a quiet child," Stef spoke up for the first time – she generally left the household rules to Lena. "Little did we know she was just stifling her boredom into a tight little ball of resentment to explode when she was older."

Callie wanted to laugh at the remark, but was conscious there may be allegiances between the other siblings. She knew Brandon was allowed out til 10, and so was she.

"Can I stay out til 9?" Jude asked.

"No, dear. You are limited to 8 o'clock," Lena replied.

Perhaps it was her current mood, but Callie resented Lena telling her brother what he could and couldn't do. He was **her** responsibility! No one else's. She agreed with the curfew she set, however.

Callie looked out of the coffee shop window. She watched other teenagers walk along the sea's edge. Some held ice cream cones, others had cell phones glued to their ears. Some kissed and groped partners and threatened to splash each other in the water. She absently wiped crumbs from the edge of the table with a napkin. It was a habit; she didn't see herself doing it.

Observing passers-by reminded her why she loved living in a city as opposed to the country or, worse still, a suburb. It gave her permission to be a voyeur, to observe others, to see other lives on display; from coffee shop windows, in supermarkets, at traffic lights, on commuter trains and neon-lit streets. Each passer by had their own story to tell. She had no idea the demons they faced or how they fared against them. What were their hopes in life? People tended to hope for trivial things: 'I hope the traffic isn't bad this morning'; 'I hope the queue for coffee isn't too long'; 'I hope the cute guy doesn't get voted off American Idol'. It was sad. They were wasting their hopes a pinch at a time. What if we're allotted only a limited number, like wishes?

When Callie and Jude had arrived at the front of the school that morning they had stood for a number of minutes at the front gate.

"Are you nervous?" Callie had asked Jude.

"No."

"Do you mind if I am?" She knew she should be used to first days at school – this was her sixth first...but it also meant she was well aware how bad they could go.

"Course not," Jude replied. "I can tell, anyway."

"How," she had asked curious.

"You've been holding my hand tight since we got out of Lena's car."

"I see."

"It's actually starting to hurt," he added.

Callie realised she was indeed gripping Jude's hand quite tight. She released him immediately. "I'm so sorry, kiddo."

"No worries." He stood on tip toe and kissed his sister on the cheek. "Have fun and be good. See you this evening." At which point he ran off in the direction of the front door leaving Callie swimming in the incongruity of youthful confidence and elder cynicism. She felt she had to hold her life down with rocks, that anything good in her life would blow away in a strong wind and she only relaxed when everything was calm.

Was she a cynic? Negative? After all, living close to the edge meant you had to constantly guard against toppling over and recognise it was distinctly possible (inevitable?). She had looked into the abyss once too often and found she kinda liked it. She made shapes out of the shadows, like Rorschachs. She suspected her one-time therapist now had a therapist of his own. It wasn't falling Callie feared, but rather jumping or, worse, being pushed.

Change, however, had to be good, right? And consistency the last refuge of the unimaginative. Days of unbearable sameness, where there was nothing to think of, were to be avoided, even if change meant something to overcome and cope with rather than enjoy. What did people do when they didn't know what else to do? However, she realised that having options and choices could be dangerous. Choices were the demons that wreck happiness inside a perfect-seeming world by whispering that there is something better for us on the other side of the fence.

Her life now was way better than before. She knew that. Yet she constantly dreamed of simpler times - until she remembered how, back then, she used to dream of a life like it was now. Dreams could take so long to be realised that by the time they manifest, you may want something different.

The first lesson of the first day in school number six found her sitting at a desk smack in the middle of class. She would have preferred to sit at the back and take stock of all the people she would be forced to mix with for the next...however many months that Stef and Lena put up with her – cynic? Instead, her field of vision had a 180 degree blind spot.

"Foster girl," came one whisper.

"Juvenile delinquent," came another. How had **that** been leaked so soon?

The whispers were intentionally loud enough to be heard. Intentionally uttered so as the originators could be located easily, such was their confidence. Callie supposed she should confront them; beat the crap out of the obvious ring leader to show she was tougher and not to be messed with. It was, after all, what had happened to **her** on her first day in juvie, and it had worked so completely then – she still had the bruises to remind her. But, she guessed such behaviour would be frowned upon here, so she ignored the taunts and created a mental torture chamber where she could scratch eyes and break bones with impunity.

"Don't worry about them," came a voice from her right.

Callie turned her head slowly so as to appear nonchalant rather than a drowning person grasping for a proffered life vest. Part of her knew she should be careful not to accept the friendship of the wrong type of person. If he was a nerd, he would have a select group of equally untouchable friends. If he was hated by every other pupil, she would comprise a gang of two for her entire time at school number six. Office politics had nothing on the pitfalls of classroom allegiances. What if he was mad, bad and dangerous to know?...Actually that might be fun. Her elbow nearly slipped off the table when she locked eyes with a Greek adonis -_**great, now try and get that out of your head easily-**_ He had long flowing sandy-blonde hair – like the character Jo in the show Twisted, and dark blue eyes!

"My names Wyatt," he introduced. He held out his hand. He held out his hand! Just what she needed; another gentleman. At least he didn't stand up – Brandon would have stood up.

"What?"

"No, Wyatt," he smiled.

It was a funny remark and Callie smiled in spite of her ingrained caution when first meeting someone. She found herself instantly warmed to this insanely handsome good Samaritan. In hard times, succumbing to beauty could seem frivolous, but take it away and you're left with just the hard times.

"This is Talya," he introduced a girl with long strawberry-blonde hair to his right. They exchanged waves.

Callie switched off pause mode and stood up from the table in the coffee shop. She saw Jude down below – he had stayed a bit later than her and they had planned to meet at the shop so they could walk back to the Foster's house together, hand in not-so-tight hand.

Part of her didn't want to go back there. -_**if I go now, I'll just play that game with myself. The one where I stare out of the window and pretend this is real and permanent-. **_She descended to the first level and linked hands with Jude. They both made their way along the promenade before turning off onto the winding roads leading to the suburbs.

Holding hands and walking with her brother was still such a new thing; a novelty deserving of the phrase. She still recalled meeting him for the first time after being so long apart. It felt like a frozen moment in time. Every detail was etched in her memory. It was though time had stopped and said 'here, let me take a snapshot for you'.

Walking back to the Foster's house – she was not of a mindset to call it 'home' just yet – she had a sudden vision of Jude not being there: to greet her every morning; to share her loneliness amongst strangers; to kiss goodnight every night. The vision of her life without him again caught her so violently that she nearly dropped to her knees; invisible strings cut from above. She recovered in time to keep her balance. How did parents cope? How did they hand over their children to teachers every morning; let them go on field trips; not sit watching them sleep all night for fear they would slip out of the window and fly away to some Neverland? It scared her; the all-encompassing love, the obsession...the obligation.

"Did you have a good day?" Jude asked. Again, Callie was struck by the incongruity of being asked first.

"Yes, I think I did. I only detected four possible enemies and made two friends. How about you?"

"No enemies...yet," he smiled. Callie blinked back tears she always felt form when he did that. "I think I've met a friend as well. His name's Connor."

"Then it's been a good day for the Jacobs," Callie wrapped her arm tightly round her brother, then released him with a laugh.

A drop of wetness hit her neck; it was trying to rain. The droplets were so small that, rather than fall, they danced like dust blown by a light breeze. Last night she had endured a bad dream, and this morning had scowled at everyone at breakfast. Now the air pressure was lifting and she felt...better.

They both arrived at the front of the Foster's home. Jude ran ahead to the front door. Callie shouted out to him to remember to wash his hands before heading to the kitchen to eat. She entered the hallway and headed straight for the stairs. She detected Brandon's playing before she got to the landing – another mournful tune. It moved her to sadness. She stiffened. She felt manipulated and resentful.

Ryan had saved her life and her sanity. He was the rock she had built her life upon these past two years. But, was it a relationship built upon a mutual hatred and mistrust of the world? Was it self-serving, self-perpetuating?

Brandon offered her music.

She imagined Brandon's hand sliding over her shoulder, beneath her hair, the back of his fingertips soft against her neck. She closed her eyes, saw his smile, then heard his voice calling her cynical and negative.

To be continued.


	7. Ch 7 Callie against the world

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter 7**

**Callie against the world **

Lost yesterday,

somewhere between

sunrise and sunset

two golden hours.

Each set with 60

diamond minutes.

No reward is offered,

for they are gone forever.

(Howard Mann)

Loneliness and the feeling

of being unwanted

is the most terrible

poverty.

(Mother Teresa)

Callie switched off the portable TV in her room. Pretty Little Liars was not her favourite show.

On the rare occasions Callie had been able to watch TV at length, she had tried to avoid CW and ABC Family shows.

The problem with teen dramas was that, however clever the dialogue, there was always the same gut-wrenching, forlorn looks between two parties, or with one character staring off into the lonely distance, usually accompanied by a recent boy-band soundtrack. Teamed with whispers of forever love, it made her want to gouge her eyes and scrub them with the bitterness of reality.

Oh yes, she was in one of those moods. It had been one of those days.

She felt herself going slowly crazy. Her only hope was that it was not an undignified descent.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The morning had started with an exchange of glares between her and her room-mate. The day before, Callie had been accused of stealing Jesus' pills and selling them at school. She had been saved by Jesus confessing his guilt, but Callie had known from the start it was Mariana. She had confronted her with the stupidity – the sheer lunacy, let alone moral depths of such an act.

In truth, Callie did not hate, or dislike even, the younger girl. While she had been incensed at being accused of dealing drugs – horrified at being connected with something that filled her with fear, she was actually more concerned with Mariana's behaviour and the reason she had done it. The edge that respectability and safety teetered on was slippery; it didn't take much to fall off and the climb back up was harder with few hand holds.

No, Callie did not hate Mariana. Rather, she was fascinated by her. She was the most girly girl she had ever met! Her color schemes – clothes, bedding, wallpaper... iPhone cover, were a mix of pastels dominated by pink and white. Callie felt camouflaged in comparison; all foster kids tended to dress down to avoid being noticed as much as due to economic restraints. Unless an 'adopter' was visiting, in which case they all wore Sunday best.

Callie was not a typical teenager – or a typical foster kid really, and wondered if Mariana was a cliché or unique. There was the usual number of OMGs and usage of the word 'like' as if it were about to be rationed, and the posters on the wall of their shared bedroom were generic. Was Callie odd in some way? She did not have a Facebook or Twitter account, felt One Direction was a group of five boys in desperate need of a hairbrush and that Miley Cyrus really should start wearing clothes again. Bruno Mars looked cool, however, so perhaps she was not too far gone.

She found herself wanting to learn from Mariana _**Goodness help me!.**_ She was tired of hiding, of not belonging...of being camouflaged. She also wanted to help her; make her realise that going to meet a potential stranger alone at night, even if it could be her birth mother, was stupid, and that drugs were...Callie cut off her own thoughts as foster home number eight flashed in her head like a demon revealed by lightning. The image brought her out in a cold sweat and she had to take two deep breaths to bring herself under control.

Unfortunately, Callie had mishandled the offer of help and had let her own anger pollute the situation. Thus, the two girls exchanged glares and nothing was achieved before they left the house, separately, that morning in the direction of school. The repairs and improvements would now have to wait for a couple of days as Mariana was staying over at a friend's house until Sunday.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Five days into her new school and Callie was now used to the taunts and power-play of the alpha crowd. This school's Cordelia Chase and Harmony Kendall were called Faye and Melissa. There were also two others whose names Callie had not spared the neurons to remember. Faye was the leader. There was an added complication in that Melissa was Wyatt's sort-of girlfriend – his words, not hers. Callie liked Wyatt and didn't want to jeopardise any relationship he had, despite the fact she detested Melissa and felt he could do infinitely better.

She had initially thought Talya was his girlfriend until he had corrected her by informing her that she was with Brandon. At which point Callie remembered the photo in Brandon's bedroom. However, apparently Wyatt and Talya had previously been an item and now had a agreement never to be within 100 yards of each other when not sharing the same class. Wyatt had introduced Talya to Callie on her first day because he felt she needed a friend and Talya was actually a nice person.

Who needed to watch teen dramas after all that?!

The end of that day's school had finally arrived and Callie had stood by the road waiting for Ryan to turn up. While they had spoken on the phone several times, they hadn't seen each other since his hospital visit and she was experiencing serious withdrawal symptoms.

Faye and Melissa and the other two approached her from behind. "Waiting to be picked up by your latest foster parent are we?" Faye said in her sarcastic whine. Callie felt it was a pity the girl was so pretty. What on earth was she going to do with all that useless beauty when she left school? "I hope this one doesn't make you stand out in the rain."

They had read Callie's essay earlier and brayed about it in class. Their English tutor had made them all write something traumatic from their lives and detail how they had overcome it. Callie felt it a gross assumption on his part that they would have all overcome traumas sufficiently to want to write down the details, but she was otherwise not too bothered, since she had picked the most innocuous event she could think of. Their constant prodding, however, was annoying her; a wasp-like buzz. It was also a little upsetting.

She was about to turn around and swat them when Ryan turned up; his motor bike engine making a welcome sound that was almost nostalgic, since it had been so long since she last heard it. He took of his helmet, lifted his left leg over the seat and was immediately assaulted by two arms round his neck and two legs wrapped round his body. Kisses were also included in the package.

Several sublime seconds later he was released and his girlfriend stood before him. She had been crying. He looked behind her at the four girls bunched together. "Are these the bitches who've been bothering you?" He asked. He locked eyes with them and they were suitably disturbed.

"Yea, but they're no problem," Callie replied trying to prevent what she saw was coming. Ryan wasn't so easily put off. He walked around her and bridged the gap between them and the other girls. "Ryan, don't."

"If you dare to treat her like crap again," he said to girls, leaning forward and with a finger pointing ominously at Faye – he had easily guessed she was the leader. "I'll treat **you** badly."

"Threatening girls. That's brave of you," came a new voice. Callie's heart skipped when she saw Wyatt approach. "Do you want to practice on me first?" He added as he stood in front of the girls, who took the opportunity it afforded them to exit the scene.

"This has nothing to do with you!" Ryan spat.

Callie squeezed in between the testosterone and placed her hands on Wyatt's arms. "It's OK, Wyatt," she tried to placate the would-be rescuer. She edged him away from Ryan. The two boys continued to lock eyes on each other, however, and Callie had to hold her face close to his to fill his field of vision. "He was only trying to help me," she said.

"You know him?"

"This is Ryan...my boyfriend. I told you about him, remember?"

"That's Ryan?" Wyatt said incredulous. The other guy made to approach him and Wyatt surged against Callie's hold to reciprocate.

"Stop it...both of you!" Callie took Wyatt further from Ryan's range. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for coming to my rescue. However misplaced, it was sweet of you. Now I need you to back down and walk away."

"Are you sure?"

"She said so didn't she?" Ryan said.

"I'm sure," Callie reassured and Wyatt backed up a couple of steps and eventually, to her heart's relief, he headed back to the main school building.

Callie let out a deep breath she felt she had been holding in for minutes. She turned around to face her boyfriend and any relief she had dared to feel was snatched away. Ryan was not himself it seemed.

"You two seemed close," he said dangerously.

"What does that mean?" Callie asked grabbing the bait with both hands, her anger stoked by Ryan's tone and the implication.

"I mean he was quick to come to your rescue and you...reassured him very convincingly. I seem to remember being in that situation once..."

"Seriously?" Callie interrupted. "You're comparing just now with what we went through?"

"I don't know, it depends if you've slept with him yet or not."

Callie slapped Ryan's face. He slapped her back a split second afterwards. She slapped him a second time.

"Callie!" It was Lena's voice this time.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Callie cried out exasperated. One of the girls must have run and informed her of the confrontation.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said, suitably contrite. "I shouldn't have struck you. I realise I misread the situation and overreacted."

"You think?"

Ryan was visibly upset and she wanted to hug him close again. He had never hurt her and never would. The slap was...unfortunate, as far as she was concerned. They had exchanged such before, such was the intensity of their relationship – the thrill and the hurting. She realised, however, that to an outsider it probably looked totally different, and unfortunately one such person was now approaching them. The fact she was her foster mother and vice principal was so absurd she wanted to giggle manically.

"You'd better go, and quickly," she said to Ryan. "I'll call you and we can meet up again soon."

Ryan stole a kiss before donning his crash helmet and riding off. Callie sighed dramatically. She had planned a much better ending to the day – passionate and gloriously physical. It was quite infuriating, really.

She turned around to face Lena.

"Go to my office, young lady."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"You're not to see him again," Lena said as an opening salvo when they were both in her office and she had shut the door behind her.

"Yeah? I don't think so," Callie responded calmly.

"I mean it."

"And you think I don't?"

"He hit you," Lena said in disbelief at Callie's failure to match her own horror at what she had witnessed minutes earlier.

"He **slapped** me...and after I slapped him. Besides, I slapped him twice." Callie said attempting to make light of the issue.

"It doesn't make a difference..."

"Yes, it does! He would never hit me. Has never hit me."

"A guy doesn't strike a girl in any way."

"Seriously? 'Cos I have scars which say different."

Lena was momentarily caught off guard by that. "Then what was it I witnessed? And why did I have four girls banging on my door screaming they had been assaulted?"

Callie wanted to reply that she had witnessed a beautiful moment between two lovers, and that the assault had been conjured up as a result of watching too much reality TV. "He was protecting me," she offered instead. "Like he always does."

"By hitting you?" Callie screamed in frustration. "It's dysfunctional and you're too young to know the difference," Lena said.

"You're writing off the last two years of my life." Callie said desperate to make Lena understand.

"Have you slept with him?" That one caught Callie off guard, such was the absurdity of the question in her opinion. Before she could respond, however, Lena followed it up with "What if he...slaps you again?"

"Then, we'll make up for it later." Callie appreciated that didn't sound good. "We don't exchange blows for the fun of it, like some sadomasochistic game, but..." She desperately searched for the right words. "our relationship is...physical...enthusiastic..." That would have to suffice. Lena wasn't obtuse.

"Has he ever coerced you...?"

Callie became a cloud of nebulous rage waiting to break. "No one has ever coerced me into doing anything! No one ever will. Plenty have tried, but never Ryan. Everything he has received from me was freely given."

"So you **have** slept with him." Lena persisted.

"Why is this a new thing? You knew me and Natasha were going to move in with our boyfriends after I got emancipated...before Jude came back into my life. Did you think I would live with a guy I knew nothing about, or did you imagine we could afford a 4-bed loft like the one in the New Girl?"

"Have you slept with him since you came to live with us...in my house?" Callie didn't fail to miss the use of 'my' instead of 'our'. "Has there been anyone else since then?"

Time seemed to slow down. Lena went silent, so shocked was she at her last question; at the meaning she had meant behind it. She watched with sorrow Callie's response. Callie looked destroyed by the implication. Her face for once showed her true age rather than the adult-too-soon mask she had presented to everyone since her arrival.

"I would never sleep with Brandon," she said desperately. "**Please** believe me."

Lena had given her a lift home after that. The journey had been tensely quiet. As soon as they shut the front door behind them Callie had excused herself and headed straight for her room. In truth, Lena was grateful for the space, but said she would call her down for dinner when it was ready. When that was finished, Callie had returned to the room and switched on her TV.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

An hour before she had given up on Pretty Little Liars, Callie had decided to see if Jude was still up. She knew the two moms would ensure he went to bed at a respectable time, but wanted to make sure that she always had a part to play. Descending the stairs she discerned his voice from the kitchen, although she could not make out any specific words. She entered the heart of the Foster's house to find Jude about to leave for bed and Lena standing with her back leant against the sink.

Jude kissed his sister on the cheek and said 'Hi' and 'goodnight' to her, which lifted her mood to such a dizzy height that she felt light-headed. He then turned around.

"Goodnight, mom."

Callie fell off the pinnacle again. Her eyes betrayed her shock and Lena also detected an element of dismay.

"Jude..." the sister uttered on impulse before she knew what she was going to follow it up with. He turned around, curious and oblivious. "Nothing...I'll be up later to see you're OK and say goodnight."

"You don't have to do that." He turned back around and left the room.

Callie listened to each step he took up the stairs and heard the faint sound of his bedroom door closing. Lena said her name. She turned around. Distress was clearly evident now.

"Do you mind Jude calling me 'mom'?"

Callie was suddenly scared. Had she offended? "No...no of course not," she stumbled. "I'm really sorry, I don't mean to seem...I mean I..."

"Don't worry," Lena rescued her floundering charge. "It was a shock, though, wasn't it?"

Callie titled her head and her eyes showed her acknowledgement. "I meant no offence." She really was concerned.

"Oh, my poor dear, it really does bother you, doesn't it?"

Callie shook her head slightly to dislodge tears. Lena allowed her to take her time, even if she was not going to release her from her torment and change the subject. In truth, Lena was still reeling from Jude's spontaneous show of...acceptance. It had been many years since Jesus and Mariana's first utterance of the word and longer still since Brandon accepted her as co-parent.

In the agonisingly long silence, and confronted by the persistent stare from the older woman, Callie was becoming desperate. "I don't know what you want me to say," she cried. "What do you want from me?"

"You don't have to say anything. Nothing needs to be said." Lena edged closer to the young girl. Callie nearly fell backwards. "I think you don't mind **Jude** calling me 'mom'. It is your own doubts..."

"I know that!" Callie interrupted in anger. "I would **never **dictate what Jude says or thinks."

Lena tried to approach her again and held out her hand to her. Callie's stance, however, shouted 'don't touch me!' "You don't have to call me, or Stef, 'mom' if you don't want to."

"I don't have to do **anything** I don't want to," Callie spat out with venom which shocked both of them. She put her right hand over her mouth in horror, and anchored herself from stumbling by holding on to the kitchen top with her left. She shook with a combined feeling of losing control of her sanity and a fear she had overstepped. "I am so sorry. That was rude and ungrateful of me. It won't happen again, I promise." Fear was winning.

Lena approached her and was relieved when she wasn't rebuffed a third time. She took Callie into a wordless hug for several seconds before holding her out and locking eye contact. "Our relationship can be what **you** want it to be and **you **are the prime carer of Jude, not me or Stef." She added the last as an afterthought when it occurred to her that perhaps Callie was feeling usurped. "And, always know that you can treat us both as you would a parent, without the need to recognise us as one. I don't know what sort of relationship you had with previous foster parents – your file doesn't go into detail..."

Callie pulled away suddenly. "My file..." She stepped back from Lena again. She shut her eyes, looked up and exhaled deeply.

"Callie," Lena tried to retrieve her attention. "You know every foster parent is passed a file..."

"I know," she replied in a low voice. "I mean, I forgot, but I know." Callie raked her fingers through her hair. "That damn thing has followed me all my life. Like a stalker. And it's a fantasy of me; Callie-lite." Lena was suitably puzzled. "Me and Natasha broke into the office one night. We wanted to doctor our files; to take out anything incriminating that would put off anyone from adopting us. We were shocked to find there was nothing bad to take out." Lena's expression revealed she was missing the point. "There was **nothing **bad! Nothing to say what we had gone through – the abuse, the reasons we left each home. Our files had lived a better life than we had!"

"I agree it doesn't paint anything bad..." Lena conceded.

"You've lived with me for a week now, didn't you notice any..." Once again, Callie found herself searching for the word she wanted. "Anomalies. Didn't you notice any anomalies between what was written and my...behaviour?"

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie now sat alone. She was satisfied she had healed the rift between her and Lena. It had been a new experience; the need to apologise for her actions. No one had deserved an apology before; many had deserved the actions.

Having to now pre-think her actions in general was causing her problems and not a few regrets.

For example, she recalled reading a notice in a coffee shop a few months ago. It had mentioned several muggings having occurred in a local park, and warned to be careful when walking there. The notice had meant little to her at the time and she had continued to use the park; she had nothing to lose and her own welfare was not that important to her. It had even been kind of exciting to dare herself to walk there at night. It had been one of her imagined freedoms – freedom of will and damn the consequences. In the past she would have also given serious consideration to responding to Brandon's not-so-subtle interest in her; would even have initiated it, perhaps – he was that tempting. She could always return to the children's home when it was discovered.

But, she now had Jude to consider and all **he** had was her. She had something to lose. She could no longer afford to: burn bridges; be belligerent for the simple joy of it; respond to a boy's advances...walk in a dangerous park. She couldn't help but feel that she had somehow been robbed.

The file – her stalker - preyed on her mind still. It had painted a phony picture of her to Lena and Stef. It concealed all the sins of others inflicted on her. She had seldom wanted to talk about the bad things of her life. She feared it would become nothing more than horror porn to the listener; to be devoured like action fans devour books about war; lapping up the statistics and pouring over the fancy graphs showing the number of casualties – who abused her? Who beat her? How long did she last in each home compared to the others?

But, she wanted Stef and Lena to understand. She didn't want to revisit her past – the prospect scared her to the point of nausea, but they had to understand. It suddenly occurred to her that she actually wanted to open up, for the first time in her life, damn the consequences! Tomorrow would be as good a day as any, especially since Natasha was sleeping over that night – poor Natasha.

To be continued.


	8. Ch 8 Callie and Pandora's Box

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter 8**

**Callie and Pandora's Box **

Home is the chocolate biscuit and the pizza takeaway. Home is the smell of freshly cut grass. Home is the art of looking through holes in other people's fences; the knack of frowning at naked ladies in the paper while staring at them too. At home we like to laugh at ourselves, and it's a good thing as well. We get one day of rain, we put on our boots and we stamp in the mud in the garden like children.

Home should be where we feel most comfortable and safe. Where we can take off all our masks of indifference and self defence and can cry without fear of being belittled. It should be where shows of tenderness come unprompted, are given without feeling embarrassed or awkward or, at least, where such feelings are not ridiculed.

Be it ever so humble...etc.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"You don't have to do this this, you know," Natasha said to her sister-friend.

Callie was sitting on the large sofa in the Foster house living room. Stef, Lena, Brandon and Jesus and Jude were seated on the selection of armchairs and large cushions facing her. Callie's file was open on the coffee table separating them. Natasha was sat alongside Callie, holding her hand.

"My God, Nat you're shaking. You're more scared than me," said Callie. Natasha tilted her head in acceptance and without argument.

Callie had to open up if she wanted to escape; to dance on the sand. A ship sealed in a bottle never reaches the sea. Jude stood up and made to leave the room. "You don't have to leave," she called out to him.

"It's OK. If you wanted me to know everything, you'd have already told me by now. One of us needs to be free." Callie was astounded by the adult nature of the remark; the intelligence behind it.

Jesus stood up. "Hey, kiddo, why don't we go upstairs and play a computer game." He looked to Callie. "You don't mind me not sitting in, do you?"

"No, course not. And thank you." She felt beyond grateful. "Could you, though, pick a non-violent game?"

Stef craned her neck round to her son. "Pick one where at least some of characters comply with the Geneva Convention," she said.

Natasha laughed out loud and Jesus smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "The only things we'll be killing are orcs and goblins."

Callie watched as her brother disappeared from view up the stairs, and stared at the vacant space for several seconds more. Stef noticed Natasha watching her friend at the same time.

"Don't worry," Lena broke the silence, addressing Callie's obvious concern. "He really does love you, believe me."

Callie snapped out of her trance and smiled gratefully. "I know," she said quietly, if only half-convincingly.

"You lot are spoil-sports limiting the type of game they can play," Natasha said to shift the mood.

"Are you a fan?" Stef asked.

"I have to be; my boyfriend is crazy obsessed. Our first date was in an arcade."

"Only because that was where he first met you," Callie added with a laugh.

"I don't see the attraction myself," Brandon said with mock disapproval – the others hoped. "They're just the start of the slippery slope to pool halls and the race track." Callie and Natasha looked at each other sheepishly.

"Anyway..." Callie changed the subject. She filled up a glass with water from a large pitcher on the table, and took a long gulp. She leant forward and turned over the first page of her file, then sat back. Not feeling comfortable with being so relaxed, she sat up again, her back straight.

"I was six when mom died. Jude was two. We have no other relatives other than our dad, who disappeared from the scene after Jude was born. I can barely remember him; know nothing of him – don't want to know." Her voice took on a tone of cold indifference, tinged almost with hate. She suspected her first feeling of anger stemmed from when the world took her mother from her; her first experience of hate when she thought of her father.

"We were both put into the nearest children's home. I remember everything seeming so large there at first. And grey; to match the clothes we were given after we outgrew the ones we had arrived in." Callie felt she could have stood in the middle of any room in the home and been camouflaged.

"Two months in, Jude was taken away from me. I think I became...difficult after that." She stared at the stairs leading up to where her brother was hopefully blissfully destroying orcs and goblins with Jesus. "I died when Jude was taken from me, yet he carried on living."

"That'll never happen again," Stef said. "I promise you, we won't allow them to split you up from this house."

"Not until Hell freezes over they won't," Callie uttered with venom still staring at the stairs. "And even then I'll fight on the ice." She looked over to Stef and offered a smile of appreciation at the vow. She truly believed in Stef and Lena's promise.

"After Jude was taken I withdrew into myself. No one could reason with me or please me. The other kids left me alone, which at least meant I wasn't bullied – I think I was too scary to approach. A month later Nat arrived." She turned to her friend. "She brought me out of my shell, befriended me, kept me sane."

Natasha took her hand. "When I arrived at the home I was a complete wreck; scared of everything and everyone. The older kids took advantage of that and set about bullying me from the start. Callie defended me and took me under her wing."

Callie took another drink of water before continuing.

"I was seven when I was first fostered out. It was a nice house – newly refurbished ready for a family. The couple were young, probably in their early twenties. Perhaps I was too much to handle – I didn't like being separated from Natasha for a start. Perhaps I was a disappointment. I felt no love from the start. Just impatience and a feeling of never being able to do anything right, or be in the right place at the right time. You understand," she looked from one Foster to another along the line they were sitting in. "the feelings I am describing are what I feel now. I was too young at the time to have such thought processes. I just felt...unwanted."

"I remember," she said suddenly as if she was actually just remembering, "I was in the supermarket with the mother. I think I was making the usual demands a seven-year-old makes, when she suddenly turned round and screamed, in full view and earshot of everyone, _'get the fuck away from me!'_. I was only seven. I didn't know whether she meant just for that moment in time, or if she wanted me to leave her for good. I didn't know whether to walk out of the supermarket and not come back, or just walk several paces behind her."

"I lasted until the New Year." She smiled and looked to Natasha. "I tend to find most of us get homed just before Christmas, like dogs from a shelter, and handed back just as thoughtlessly the following spring. I've had very few Christmas meals in the children's' home, but celebrated plenty of Easters and Thanksgivings there." Natasha nodded in agreement and returned the smile; a shared experience.

"It was several months later until I was fostered again. I was eight. While the first family had at least wanted a child, this one was a typical pay-check home; one where kids were fostered just for the money it brought in. It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in by children, not a fit place for them; or for love of any kind...or hope. It had the soul-corroding conformity of 50s America."

She took another gulp of water.

"If I did anything wrong I would be locked in the coat cupboard in the hallway. The list of forbidden acts was long and no sin was ever revealed to me until after I had committed it, so I spent hours in that dark confined space. He would place his dog outside. It was a guard dog, trained to bark at the slightest noise such as a child crying or pleading to be let out. I would get one belt lash for each bark I caused."

Stef noticed, again, how closely Natasha watched her friend; never taking her eyes off her. Callie was faced forward, but her eyes looked at the space in front of her rather than at her audience.

"I soon learnt how to sit dead quiet; what slight movement would cause a sound – a click of a bone, a rustle of a coat. After I got used to being banished there, I would often judge whether it was worth staying silent and hungry or endure a few extra straps for the chance to get out sooner and eat. I lasted there five months. Bill paid us a progress visit. I showed him my latest bruises and he took me away that afternoon. I don't think that couple ever fostered again, so small mercies, huh?" She said finally looking at the others. "None of that is detailed in here, though," she added, fingering the relevant pages of her file.

"We have always liked Bill," Lena offered. "He's been good to us."

"Oh yes, he's so...solid and dependable. I want him to be my uncle," Callie said with unveiled sarcasm. Lena was shocked.

Natasha didn't flinch at the remark signalling her agreement with her friend's judgement. "Bill has the habit of taking control of our lives, then returning them gradually so we feel grateful and co-operative, as though it were a gift being given," she added to Callie's comment.

Callie refilled her glass and took another gulp of water.

"Home number three came quickly. The parents were really nice - Bill had done good. Unfortunately he omitted to check the bastard monster of a son they had. He hit me. I hit back. I was returned to the children's home in time for Thanksgiving." Natasha took hold of her hand. "I went a little...crazy for a while. They assigned me a therapist. It must've helped as I calmed down afterwards, although I can't remember anything I said to her. It did improve my image with the other kids, though," Callie smiled.

"We all thought she was cool to have a shrink," said Natasha.

"I was nine when I was sent to home number four. The father broke my arm with a baseball bat."

Lena gasped audibly and went to approach Callie to support her. She was met by a glare from the younger woman. Instead Lena grasped Stef for comfort in a mirror image of Natasha's hold of her friend. Callie was a mixture of anger and puzzlement. Why was the last beating more shocking than being locked in a cupboard until hunger pangs forced you to make a sound and get whipped in exchange for food, or more shocking than being screamed at in a supermarket? Was she seriously grading her punishments in order of severity? To her, every punishment was as bad as the one preceding it.

"I was old enough by then to detect a trend," Callie smile humourlessly. "I don't know, perhaps my behaviour warranted...negative reactions..."

"Don't you dare think that," said Stef. She appeared more angry at Callie giving voice to the concept than the concept itself. "You did not deserve any of it."

Callie agreed with Stef totally, but her own anger made her want to taunt her. She had an almost masochistic desire to elicit a negative response. "I didn't?" Callie asked rather than stated her agreement.

"No!"

Stef was definitely angry and Callie stoked the fire further. "I'm not so certain. I mean, I was pretty obnoxious to you yesterday," she looked to Lena.

"You were rude," Lena responded to the bait. "...disrespectful, perhaps. But, it was not a reason for me to hit you. Nothing would be, and I never would."

"Callie," Stef said to draw her attention to her, "You have to understand you have been living in a different world. One where bad things were done, which should never have been. Nothing you have mentioned so far should have happened. You deserved **none** of it."

"And, sweetie," Lena added, "the world is not all like that. This home isn't a unique snow globe of trapped goodness."

Callie was about to comment further, but Natasha spoke her name quietly. She turned to look at her friend and saw _'enough is enough' _written in Natasha's eyes. She knew the game she was playing. She knew it was her habit of self-destruction bubbling to the surface again; her habit of pushing everyone away and building a wall around herself. In truth, Callie didn't think she deserved punishment, or to be treated as a lesser person just because: she was a foster kid; because she had never stayed in one house for long; because she had never been adopted, unlike her brother. After all, surely actors, who are only ever cast as villains, don't feel lesser about themselves because of it.

Why then was she pretending otherwise; treating three of the nicest people she had ever known with contempt; risking the respect of the only true friend she had? Did her anger have no boundaries? No shame? -_**please, God help me-**_ She suddenly laughed at the absurdity of the plea and put her hand over her mouth in shock at the outburst. She didn't even believe in God; in the terrible truth; in the beautiful lies. Her eyes glassed over and she had to blink to avoid tears. She could feel herself going slowly crazy.

So many threats and fears, so many wasted years. How many more, how much longer, before her life became her own?

Callie looked at her friend, then turned to the Fosters. "Thank you," she said simply. "Needless to say, they also never fostered another child, so...small mercies, again. If I believed in God, I could believe he had a plan for me to filter all the bad from the good, one home at a time."

She took another gulp of water.

"I wasn't fostered again for nearly two years. During that time we both," Callie gestured to herself and Natasha, "had as much fun as we could get away with – the Callie/Natasha years we like to call it." She smiled.

"I prefer to call it the Natasha/Callie years," Natasha added "I am the eldest, after all."

"But, C comes before N...besides, it's my story," Callie grinned.

Natasha pursed her lips. "You don't want to know what we got up to," she said to the others.

"Just how much can two nine-year-olds get up to?" Brandon asked.

"Seriously?" Stef and Lena responded in unison. "Imagine Mariana and Jesus as they are now, but ten times worse," said Lena. Brandon shivered dramatically.

"And that was before we discovered the pool hall and the race track," Natasha added. She grinned impishly at Brandon. Callie looked at her in shock and comic horror. Was she flirting with her foster brother?

All...seemingly good things come to an end eventually, and Callie explained how she was eventually fostered for the fifth time when she turned eleven. A girl at school had accused her of stealing. Once the Principal had left the house and disappeared around the corner, the foster parents turned Callie out into the front yard and made her wait in the rain for an hour until Bill arrived to pick her up. The event was made worse by the fact that Callie had been guilty of the crime, so could blame no one else. The Fosters looked suitably horrified at what had happened to her, but to Callie's frustration, they did not ask if she had committed the theft. Why did she want to tell them? To shock them again?

Bill secured Callie a sixth home a year later. "As soon as the foster father started to show an …...interest in me, but before anything actually happened, I left. In the middle of the night I walked the five miles back to the children's home. Nat crept downstairs and let me in and I shared her bed that night and the following four until the carers eventually discovered I had returned; the foster father hadn't reported me missing and I never reported his advances."

"We did get back at him another way, though," Natasha said. "We were old enough to know that he shouldn't be allowed to foster again. The only reason we didn't do it directly was because people only tended to listen to us if we had bruises to show."

"What did you do?" Stef asked.

"Gossip, anonymous phone-calls to interested parties and lots of posters."

Callie took another gulp of water before continuing.

Home number seven came in the winter when Callie was fourteen. That winter had been endless. Even her dreams would freeze. "When the sun went down and night arrived the foster father would get drunk and curse everyone he knew. He was a sad defeated drunk!" Callie spat. She had no sympathy for the devil. "He was a failure at everything and was envious of, and hated, everyone. Even his punches had no power in them. They only left bruises through their frequency." She went silent.

"Ryan," Natasha prompted.

Callie's face lit up and she smiled genuinely. She described how he charged into the foster father to stop him from hitting her, knocking him – and Callie, to the ground. How he picked her up and placed her on the back of his motorcycle and took her back to the children's home – via the beach, the park, a coffee shop and an ice cream parlour.

"Six months later I was placed in home number eight." Callie paused for several seconds again, then turned to Natasha. "Your finger nails are digging into my hand," she stated gently. The other girl relaxed, but did not release, her hold. Natasha looked straight at Callie, half afraid, half supportive of what was coming next. Callie raised her eyebrows and smiled thinly in acknowledgement.

"This time there was only a foster mother – no father. She was...wonderful; part mother, part big sister. I loved her so much. She had her own chequered past, so passed no judgement on mine."

"What happened to her?" Stef asked quietly, sensing...knowing there had to be a sad ending.

"She was killed...by an ex-partner. A drug addict looking for money for another fix." Callie suddenly stood up. On impulse, Stef, Lena and Brandon stood up in unison. Callie was startled. "I...I have to pee," she said meekly. The others looked awkward and sat back down again. Callie headed for the downstairs cloakroom, but turned around briefly first. "That completes my life story," she said with a smile. "You all know about home number nine already."

The Fosters watched Callie leave the room and listened for the sound of the cloakroom door closing.

"There's more to tell about that last home – number eight, I mean," Lena stated, rather than asked, looking to Natasha.

The young woman, who had remained sitting the entire time, gave her a kind smile. "Did you really think she would tell you everything? Not hold back something that was just too painful to think of, let alone voice out loud? There are things she wouldn't even tell me, and I have lived through pretty much the same as she has, alongside her. Please don't press her for any more details."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"What're you doing?" Callie asked as she stared at Natasha pulling Mariana's bed up to hers.

"What does it look like? Did you think I was going to let you sleep by yourself tonight?"

Callie fought against being overcome by the gesture. "Just make sure you don't roll over to my side," she said good humouredly instead.

"Hey, just because I once kissed a girl and liked it..."

"I didn't mean..."

"I know. I'm teasing."

Three hours later Callie woke up suddenly, stifling a scream just in time, before it escaped into the rest of the house. She sat up in bed. Natasha sat up and wrapped one arm round her friend. "Are you OK?" She asked.

Callie nodded her head wordlessly whilst staring straight ahead. She then turned her eyes to Natasha. "I'm scared, though." She looked it – eyes wide and unblinking.

"Don't worry. You'll get through it again, like last time. And me and Ryan will be with you all the way."

Callie rested her head on Natasha's shoulder. She let her friend lower her back down on the bed and hold her until she felt back to sleep.

To be continued.

**A/N: I have no experience of state children's homes and neglected to research them for this story. As such, I apologise if the negative nature of my description of Callie's experiences were inaccurate or an unfair representation. I purposely painted it as being grey and depressing, but also purposely avoided depicting it as Dickensian to hopefully even everything out. Similarly, I fully appreciate not all (most likely very few) foster homes are awful, but leant towards the negative for …...dramatic effect. Regards CC. **


	9. Ch 9 Callie and Wyatt

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter 9**

**Callie and Wyatt **

As I watch the Sun go down,

watching the world fade away,

all the memories of you

come rushing back to me.

(Jimmy Sommerville)

Callie desperately needed Ryan.

It had been seven days since she had last seen him. It had been six days since she had opened Pandora's Box.. She now lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling waiting for morning.

As the damp darkness retreated, the sun appeared. The birds, although risen long before, intensified their wakening chatter as though bemused as to how living beings could sleep so long. A cathedral buttress of sun slanted through the ceiling skylight and buried itself in the base of Callie's bed. She observed dust motes perform random-dances, caught in the ray of light. She tried to latch onto one and follow it until her eyes went dry from lack of blinking.

She closed her eyes and was immediately confronted by her demons. She mentally fought them off one by one, in the order they had occurred in life – foster family number one followed by number two and so on. Number 8 appeared again, as it did every night. Each time it gained more of an upper hand. Callie snapped open her eyes in terror for the sixth day in a row since the evening she had opened up to everyone.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie was sat on a bench on the promenade that separated the beach from the school. She shut her eyes for long periods and when she opened them she stared at nothing. People walking along the promenade or across the beach didn't register before she shut her eyes again. She then opened them and watched the waves advance up the beach; the water soaking the sand a darker colour, then draining away again, bleaching the surface back to its former self as it returned to the sea. She imagined lying on the top of the dark water. She closed her eyes and relished the thought of sinking below the surface – gliding in slow motion to the sea bed through a mosaic of colours – a psychedelic vision of peace until the last breath escaped her lungs and she entered the state of euphoria before death took her. The tranquillity of solitude.

She had excused herself from her last class, lying that she had felt sick. Lunch break was now coming to a close.

"I told you we'd find her here." Faye's tone announced her presence before she, Melissa and the other disciples appeared from behind and passed in front of Callie's field of vision. It was appropriate that the two other girls were nameless since they were as equally inconsequential to Callie; two Faye clones.

"What's up, foster girl, missing your biker boyfriend?"

Several seconds elapsed with both parties silent until Callie raised her head to stare at them. Melissa visibly flinched at the sight: Callie's eyes were framed with sleep deprivation. They were open windows to a soul imprisoned. They were also unblinking as Callie looked from one girl to another along the line they had formed in front of her. Melissa wanted to look away when it was her turn to be locked on to, but she was transfixed.

"What?" Callie broke the spell.

The others looked to Faye, who remained silent behind her lack of imagination.

"What?!" Callie demanded suddenly in a louder voice causing all the girls to flinch backwards.

This was becoming insulting. Callie had faced far worse than the four would-be Heathers before her. Did they really think she would be beaten by such amateurish behaviour? She could destroy them all single-handed, emotionally and physically. Still no response. "Seriously?" Callie spoke again. "You have no follow up?"

Melissa noticed Callie's eyes change. The intensity had been of anger and of a chosen solitude invaded. Now there was disbelief, disgust and even a brief glimpse of disappointment, as though Callie needed an adversary and had found them meagre candidates.

"As bullies you really extend the range of lameness. I've been attacked by bullies wielding baseball bats...baseball bat bullies...wow alliteration so early in the day." Callie ran her hand down her face, massaged her eyes, then returned her attention back to the group. "Go away," she dismissed simply, wearily.

"How dare you?" Faye demanded, finally finding the courage to speak. Her haughtiness failed to conceal her awareness that she had been outmanoeuvred. "Who do you think you are?"

Callie laughed, although no sense of humour was present in the sound. She looked away as if they had already left the scene, which they eventually did.

"Are you OK?"

Callie turned around, surprised at the voice and Melissa's continued presence. "Why does everyone keep asking me that when it's obvious I'm not? As small talk it's in pretty poor taste. And why are you still here?" She uttered with contempt. "What, has Faye extended her leash? You want to be careful; they have a wicked spring back."

"I don't blame you for despising Faye..."

"I don't despise her. It's in Faye's nature to be mean," Callie reasoned. "If she were to express a different emotion, it would be obvious she was lying. You, on the other hand, are capable of kindness – like just now, which makes your behaviour before worse."

Melissa felt unable to extricate herself; bound by shame and the dark intensity of the girl sitting before her. Even when Callie looked away, dismissing her completely without a word, she still could not conjure sufficient courage to move. Until Callie looked up at her again. Her eyes were now distressed.

"Tell me," she implored desperately. "what did you think when you read my essay? What..."

"It was sad."

"And yet you..." Callie was nearly crying. She didn't finish her sentence, but the sense of betrayal was palpable.

Callie looked down again, which Melissa took as being released. "**Are** you OK?" She asked again.

"I'm fine. Thank you for asking," Callie responded.

"At least come inside. It's cold and you're shivering."

Callie's attention was elsewhere, however, so Melissa left her sitting. Wyatt's shadow appeared in Callie's line of sight. She looked up and raised her right hand to shield the sun. "What, are you forming a queue back there? I might start charging an entrance fee."

"You look terrible," Wyatt uttered. Callie smiled at the unconventional greeting. "That's an improvement," he added in response.

Callie ran her hand through her hair. "Does Melissa know you are here?"

"She sent me as a matter of fact."

Callie frowned and felt a mix of guilt and confusion; another person to tick off from her anger list. It was getting shorter and she wasn't sure she liked it that way. Anger had kept her alive - she was sure of that now, rather than the doubts she had confessed to Stef about it slowly killing her. Lost in her world of diminishing demons she didn't notice Wyatt walk around to stand behind her. When she emerge from her thoughts she was surprised to find him gone and was startled when he spoke from behind.

"Raise your right arm," he instructed.

"Why?" But she obeyed. The movement made her shiver involuntarily. It **was **cold.

Wyatt threaded her arm into her coat and wrapped it around her. She put her other arm into the other sleeve and leant her head into the fur collar. Wyatt put his hand on her arm. Callie was confused and uncertain as to what to do, having only ever received affection from Ryan and Natasha, and lately Stef and Lena. Brandon's attempts, while intoxicating, were disturbing due to the risk they implied, although danger could be equally intoxicating.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"No problem, it was easily done. Say," he asked suddenly. "Do you want to go somewhere?"

Callie was momentarily confused. "What, you mean other than back into class?"

"You mean, you intended on going back in?" Wyatt asked. Callie conceded his point with silence. "So, let's go somewhere. We could grab a coffee. You do coffee, don't you?" Callie smiled; it was her only vice, other than Ryan, that is. His face popped up on her mental desk top and she minimised the picture to the corner of her mind. "That's decided then. I'll drive us."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Wyatt drove them into the city, away from the beach and the suburbs, where the buildings became taller and

the street-scape more interesting; cosmopolitan, bohemian, artfully gritty. The coffee shop was on a corner of a busy back street crossroads. They sat outside and spent the first minutes watching cyclists race past on one side, taking full advantage of their cycle lanes, and walkers window shop the small independents. Every time someone looked into the coffee shop the Italian owner would call them to come in, take a seat, savour the day over coffee. Some answered the call, others smiled and walked on. Across the road was a more upmarket Italian restaurant, full with lunch goers.

Wyatt spoke. "Everyone should stop now and then and admire: a corner of the room; a window or a rooftop; people dressed up, or dressed down for the occasion. There are lovely details everywhere, at any time, no matter where you live." Callie regarded him, but his attention was on the theatre in front of them. He continued. "It reminds us of the serendipity of city life: its physicality and atmosphere; its unanticipated discoveries, its random intersections; its coincidences and ironies."

Callie was mesmerised by his words, even though she knew it was all...slightly pompous. She smiled to herself. Also, she must remember to look up what 'serendipity' meant later – she openly smiled this time. But he was echoing her own thoughts more so than anyone else ever had. Good grief, did she sound as flowery when she spoke to others? With a big mental stick she beat back such thoughts.

"There is nothing really as good as what we are doing now," he said now looking directly at her. "Looking at each other, working out the color of each other's eyes, shuffling for leg space underneath the table. Humans have touch, sight, sound and smell. At this moment in time we are living in the now; no electronic devices to distract us from our true senses."

Callie felt herself drown in her own reflection in his eyes. Colour flamed her face and her hands trembled so that she could not hold her cup steady to her lips. She was caught in an absurd dream; an intoxication of surging, whirling emotions that elevated her to a soaring height.

She must stop doing that. Ryan, Brandon and now Wyatt. It was absurd.

After all, ordinary life did not involve sitting on the sofa, staring at a loved one, all trembly with emotion. It involved saying _'can you move your feet,please? I can't see the TV'_ It didn't involve gazing up at the man's face, with a look of wonder. You didn't sit down to eat and say _'could you pass the ketchup please, my hero and rock?'_ Besides, Wyatt really needed a haircut.

"Could you drive me somewhere, please," she asked suddenly.

"OK," Wyatt agreed without asking where. Callie stood up and waited impatiently as he wiped his mouth of coffee stain. "Of course, you could walk ahead, but stay in earshot, and I could say to a complete stranger how lovely you are."

_**-oh, good grief-**_ He was like a shark of conversation; if he stopped talking he would die. She couldn't help but smile, all the same.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Foster home number one hadn't changed that much; a picket fenced oasis set back from the road, separated by a grass-verged pathway. Callie stood at the gate looking up at the entrance. Wyatt walked up and stood beside her. She opened the gate and walked ahead without looking to see if he kept pace.

A thirty-something woman – Scandinavian blonde hair and pale beauty, answered the door. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Hello, I …..."

"Callie?" The woman interrupted. "Oh, my God, it **is** you and all grown up!" She grabbed Callie into a hug and then gently held her at arms length. "Aren't you beautiful. And is this your boyfriend?" She gestured to Wyatt.

Callie was stunned silent.

"No," Wyatt replied for both of them.

"No," Callie managed eventually.

"OK. Anyway, come in come in. I've got some coffee on. Or did you want a beer? Perhaps not as you're probably younger than you look."

The two teenagers followed her in. Callie surveyed the living room. It was as she remembered, except freshly painted in the intervening ten years, and now furnished by Ikea. Callie loved Ikea. She suddenly noticed a picture on the wall of two young children, a boy and a girl.

"That's the twins," said the woman as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray laden with a cafetierre and cups and a small plate of brownies. Callie's attention snapped away from the photo as though she had been caught doing something wrong. "They were about four there. They're nine now and no less a handful." Callie did the maths and the mother must have noticed. "I fell pregnant just before you left us," she said with a smile.

"What're their names," Wyatt asked.

"Willow and Xander," she replied and blushed slightly. "I know I know, but I was a big fan at the time." Callie and Wyatt looked puzzled. "From Buffy?" She explained. "Of course, you're more Twilight and Pretty Little Liars. When I was your age it was Buffy and Dawson's Creek. Boy, does that make me feel old."

Callie was still silent. Her eyes surveyed the room again. The homely, lived in, family engrained feel of it was wonderful, yet it was also alien to her. It was as beautiful as Stef and Lena's home, but it shouldn't be. It should be unwelcome. It should conjure up nightmare memories. She had come here to show her former foster mother that she had survived and conquered her trauma; to berate her.

"Help yourself to a brownie," the woman urged. Callie picked one up and held a cup of coffee in her other hand. "Wait here," the host said suddenly. She went to a pine cupboard at the far end of the room and pulled out a photo album. "You probably haven't seen these." She opened up the book. "These are of you when you were with us."

The shock Callie had been feeling since she had entered the house was amplified when she saw several neatly placed photos of her as a seven-year-old. In all of them she was smiling, or laughing – moments trapped in amber. She traced her finger over one photo, oblivious of the action. When she realised she was doing it she almost snatched back her hand.

"These aren't digital unfortunately, but I could scan them and email them to your smart phone."

"I don't have one."

"Perhaps your 'not boyfriend's' phone then?"

"That would be great, thanks," Wyatt spoke up when he realised Callie was still under her spell.

On hearing his voice, however, Callie looked up. "Thank you," she said simply.

Several minutes later Callie was sat in the passenger seat of Wyatt's car, her eyes staring straight ahead. He opened his door and climbed in alongside her. "I'm guessing that all went differently than you expected," he said as he fastened his seatbelt.

Callie turned her face to him. "Could you please take me somewhere else?" She asked.

"Of course."

"Thank you." She faced the front again.

"I read your essay, like every one else," Wyatt said without apology. "Are we going to visit all nine homes, or just until we reach one that matches your memory of it?"

Callie faced him again, her eyes heavy and sad. Wyatt reached a hand over and brushed away a tear forming. She leant into his palm as he pushed a wayward hair from her face. He was too damn intuitive, yet she could love him for it with abandon. Even if he needed a haircut.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Coincidentally the nearest next home was foster home number two.

The ex-foster mother lived amid a degree of squalor that would not have been found wanting in a Victorian slum; wallpaper attached to pieces of plaster hung from the walls revealing large areas of brick; dirt combined with the smells of years of bad cooking clung to the broken, filthy furniture. The woman, languidly swept a pile of dust and who knew what else to and throw from the front door to the stairs, seemingly anaesthetised and oblivious of the reality of her surroundings.

"You think I don't recognise you, don't you?" The woman asked, briefly showing a glimmer of awareness.

"Where is he?" Callie asked.

"Gone. Left me after you were taken and told everyone your lies."

"Lies? I still have the scars!"

Wyatt had a look of pity for old woman. Callie could not conjure up the same. This was the woman who had let her husband lock an eight year old girl in a coat cupboard, with a dog standing guard outside that barked ferociously whenever she made a sound - a whimper.

Everyone was to blame. Everyone was implicated.

Callie turned around without further comment and left the house. Wyatt followed. "Did that one make you feel better?" He asked sadly – for Callie, not for the woman they had left behind them.

It did make her feel better -_**goodness,**_ or whatever deity existed_** help me-**__, _but it **did** make her feel better.

"The next one you can stay outside," she said. She didn't want him showing anyone else any sympathy.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Foster family number three had moved in the intervening years, with no forwarding address.

As instructed, Wyatt stayed at the end of the footpath leading to the 4th home as Callie stood on the veranda waiting for the front door to be opened. She didn't know what she was doing there; what she would say or do? She had gained a glorious catharsis from home number two, made more satisfying after the disturbing feelings of...yearning the first home had elicited.

She wondered if she was re-writing the past now she was revisiting it. Was she choosing events based on what she felt were significant to her now, but which at the time were less so? Was it the freight of history or the pang of memory or the allure of nostalgia that affected her?

The door opened and one of her nightmares stood before her; eight years had not softened him. She looked past him into the house.

"What do you want?" He asked. The voice was familiar. Not vaguely, but horribly so. Everything was familiar and horrible: the deep-voiced sneer; the contempt. "You!" He shouted suddenly and grabbed Callie by the shoulders. Before she could react, he pushed her backwards, still maintaining his grip. He shoved her backwards causing her to stumble over her feet and crash to the floor of the veranda. He then reached back into the house and produced a baseball bat. However, before he could brandish it, Wyatt collided into him, sending the man backwards into his home, the weapon falling from his hands. Wyatt picked it up and slung it into the front garden. The older man stared up at the younger. "Get her off my property!"

Wyatt turned away from the man and held out his hand. Callie grasped it and allowed him to pull her up. The front door was shut before she was fully upright. She walked off the veranda and started her way to the car, leaving Wyatt still standing.

"The next house isn't far from here."

"No." Callie stopped walking and turned around. "Enough is enough."

"Please," Callie said. "You have to..."

"No, I don't," he interrupted. He was close to caving when Callie's eyes pleaded more strongly than her words, but he was able to hold firm and for the first time that afternoon, he walked past her and led the way.

Strapped into the car again and pulling away from the kerb, Callie quietly uttered "Thank you."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Stop the car," Callie asked without warning. "Please."

They had just passed a small side road where it looked as though a local street festival was under way.

"Callie, I'm not visiting another devil from your past," Wyatt said. He stopped the car, though, a hundred yards from the entrance to the other road. Callie unstrapped herself and climbed out. For the umpteenth time, Wyatt found himself pacing behind her. It should have become tiresome by now, but it wasn't. This simultaneously beautiful and threatening, haunting and beguiling girl had captured his heart. He was lost, and loving every minute.

They both turned into the street festival. Their senses were immediately assaulted with live music, the smells from numerous food stalls and a riot of colors. The street was otherwise a collection of low and high rise mixed-use shops and apartments. It was the type of neighbourhood most would avoid, but where the residents knew how really special it was – their secret oasis against corporate uniformity. Wyatt found he was falling under its spell; where he had initially felt uneasy, he now wanted: to dance in the street; sample foods from the all over the world and wear bright colors with abandon.

Callie ignored everything and aimed instead for one stall, where a guy was selling t-shirts to a familiar face.

"Josh!" She shouted when she was within a few feet of her target. The young man looked up. He didn't look pleased to see her. Callie sensed his mood and was equal shocked and concerned. "It's good to see you again," she offered. They hadn't met up since she was incarcerated in juvie.

Natasha's boyfriend took a deep breath and exhaled. "What are you doing here, Callie? This isn't your neighbourhood any more."

"Of course it is. Just because I can't move in with you both now doesn't mean I don't belong."

"OK, so you can help with the rent then?"

"You're still renting the apartment?" Callie asked with surprise as she looked up at the building behind them both.

"We paid for six months and have a couple left. Then me and Nat will have to find a one-bed or a studio somewhere else."

"I'm sorry." She truly was. It had been their ambition – her and Ryan, Nat and Josh – to share the apartment. Jude's return had ruled out her involvement. Well, that couldn't be helped and she wouldn't change events for anything now. "Josh," she said. "Have you seen Ryan?" Josh looked away. "I haven't heard from him all week and he hasn't returned my calls. Josh," she pulled his attention to her. "Where is he?"

At that moment Wyatt caught up. "Who's this?" Josh asked gracelessly. Callie did the introductions. "I see, this is the guy Ryan was talking about."

"Please," Callie said. "Where is Ryan?"

"He's gone." Callie stepped back as though pushed and nearly stepped on Wyatt's feet. Instead, she steadied herself by anchoring her left arm on his right. Josh felt immediately guilty at ripping the plaster so carelessly. "He was visited by a policewoman a few days ago and left the following morning. He never said why." Callie remained silent; her emotions playing out in her eyes. Wyatt could feel her shaking slightly. "Look," Josh said, "I've got to go. I'm meeting Nat outside her school."

Callie broke away from Wyatt and stood staring at space. "Say Hi to her from me."

"I will and, Callie..." she finally looked up at him, "I'm sure he'll call you eventually...when he's settled."

Callie nodded her head in acceptance and Josh made his escape.

Wyatt placed a hand on Callie's arm and gently turned her around to face him. She didn't protest. "Are you OK?"

She sighed at the standard question-to-fit-all-situations. "Not so good, actually." Her ribs were sore from the shove they had received earlier from foster father number four, and the base of her back was tender from where she had landed on the veranda afterwards. And she was scared to the core of her being; she needed Ryan to help her face what she knew was coming. She looked at Wyatt and she thought of Brandon; two people she trusted and was growing to like...more than was probably safe, or allowed even. Would they suffice?

The music that had been sound-tracking the last few minutes changed from upbeat to a gentle jazz piece.

Slowly, awkwardly, Callie and Wyatt closed the gap between them. She linked her arms around his neck and his fingers splayed across her back. She refused to look at him as they formed an awkward embrace. Slowly, she began to dance and he followed her steps. They circled slowly. To Callie it seemed a sad act – she fervently hoped Wyatt felt differently - as though it was the last dance before the end of the world; the doom of nuclear fallout knocking on the door having blown across the world to finally envelope them; volcanic ash threatening to cover and preserve them for future generations to discover and marvel at.

It was vaguely heartbreaking that he wasn't Ryan. Sighing silently to herself, she pressed her cheek to his chest, listened to his heartbeat, her eyes closed, longing suffocating her. She liked to dance with Ryan; to indulge with someone who had been through similar experiences as she had; who shared some of her memories. He understood her. Callie looked up and into Wyatt's eyes. She kissed him. He kissed her in return. It was swiftly passionate. The song ended. It felt incongruous to find themselves bathed in daylight rather than in a night club somewhere, or in the confines of a room.

Callie was exhausted: mentally from re-visiting her past; physically from the assault; emotionally. It didn't, however, deter her from her next actions. She walked ahead and into the shadows of the nearest alley separating the two buildings behind them. She assumed Wyatt would follow and, when she revealed a key from her inside pocket and inserted it into a nondescript door, she assumed he was standing behind her and would enter unprompted. They climbed the staircase and another key got them into an apartment on the first landing.

She walked ahead: through the combined kitchen/dining/living area; into the small inner corridor; pushed open one of three other doors into a bedroom. She turned around and was only slightly surprised at the nearness of Wyatt. She bridged the small gap and kissed him before he could say anything. He returned her kiss.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It had been wonderful, even if she had led proceedings. Initiated and ended it. She swung her legs over her side of the mattress and methodically pulled on her clothes. She pulled her hair back and tied it in a small bunch, then stood up.

"That was more enthusiastic...more physical than I expected," Wyatt confessed. There was no crassness implied in the statement, rather a tone of surprise – shock even.

Callie was oblivious, or chose to ignore the remark. "We planned to all live here – Ryan, Nat, Josh and me," she said; as though the last hour had been just a pause for breath before a continuance of the conversation downstairs. "We had everything mapped out for months ahead. Then Jude came back."

"You sound almost sad, resentful even."

"This," she looked around the room to show she meant their cancelled plans, "this was...something better than what we had...a way of looking after ourselves. But I would give everything up for Jude's return. It was just bad timing, that's all." She offered him a smile.

Wyatt felt ensnared in a spell. "You're amazing," he found himself compelled to say. "You seem to have no problem in reconciling the opposites in your life: the good, bad and indifferent."

Callie's smile was genuine this time. "You've only known me a short time. I'm winging it mostly and often wishing I could cry out loud and break stuff." Wyatt returned her smile. "Could you drive me home, please?"

"Of course." To his confused relief he was glad when Callie turned around to let him dress without her watching.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie shut the front door behind her. Before she had time to enact her next course of action she was summoned by Lena's voice from the kitchen. Her mood tempered by anger, albeit frayed at the edges by lack of sleep, recurring images and...fear, she went to the potential battlefield. She found Stef was also there, standing alongside her partner.

"Oh," Callie said. "I see you're both here. That's...convenient."

"I was told you asked to leave a lesson early, saying you felt sick, and you didn't turn up for your next lesson after lunch. Are you feeling OK?" Lena asked. Lena handled most family matters. It would be Stef who dished out any punishment due. "You seem OK." Lena added, reducing Callie's chances to lie.

Callie raised her eyebrows and offered her a 'you're kidding' look, but out loud eventually said "I'm fine, thank you."

"What was wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I lied. I needed...wanted to do something." The two moms looked at each other. "So, do you

happen to know where my boyfriend is?" Callie asked before they could respond.

"What makes you think we..." Callie was shocked that Lena would lie, but caught Stef placing a hand on her arm making it obvious to her that she had not revealed to her partner what she had done.

"Nine homes and seven schools have made me...intuitive. I'm not stupid, in other words."

"Callie..." Stef spoke at last.

Callie didn't want to know her reasons. "You know, I had this whole...temper tantrum planned out on the journey home with Wyatt..."

"Wyatt?" Queried Lena.

"Yeah. But now I don't have the spirit for it." Callie turned around to leave. At the door she turned back. "I had sex with Wyatt this afternoon," she said matter-of-factly. "Had 'sex' rather than 'made love', you understand? It meant nothing," she paused for a second to convince herself. "It was just a blissful hour to forget. I'd be really grateful if you didn't run **him** out of town too."

"I know you're angry with us," Lena again. Stef's eyes were scarily unreadable. Callie desperately wanted to know what **she** was thinking, even if it was bad.

"I'm not. How could I be, when you were looking out for my welfare? I actually love you for that." She dared a glance at Stef, hoping for a blessed sign of understanding. She didn't see any, only a neutral stare in her direction. All of Callie's resolve and half-confidence melted away, her anger gone. She looked down at her feet, away from the eyes of the two moms. "No one has ever done that...look out for me, that is. I'm just...disappointed, that's all. Disappointed that you don't know what you've done."

"Aren't you disappointed that Ryan actually left?" Stef asked.

"I'm guessing you threatened him with Megan's Law or some-such."

"I like Wyatt," Lena said. "He seems like a good young man."

Callie picked up a cup from the table and threw it at the sink. It was a split second impulse and it horrified her. She backed away to the door, her eyes locked on the sink and wide with fear; fear of the sudden loss of control and what it meant about her sanity at that point. It was several seconds before she dared to think what the two moms thought. She looked up at them. She didn't see anger in their eyes. She saw no sign of them about to throw something back at her or pick something up to strike her. "I guess I am a little angry, after all."

Stef made to approach her. Callie was infinitely glad it was her. Up until the incident, she had been afraid that Stef was building up to explode in a fury of words which would have destroyed the glorious bond she otherwise felt for her. The older woman, like she had done on that first night on the veranda, reached out to her.

"Why aren't you angry?" Callie asked almost resentfully. She surely deserved punishment.

"Watching three children grow up has made me...intuitive." Stef smiled. Callie smiled. "I expect you really want to be somewhere other than in this room right now, huh?" Callie nodded, mesmerised by Stef's knack of...being Stef.. "You can go upstairs, if you want." Callie exited the kitchen backwards, only turning when she was through the door. "Callie," Stef called to her as she reached the base of the stairs. The young woman turned around. "You're grounded for two weeks, for skipping school." Callie almost giggled.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Brandon poked his head out of his room as Callie reached the landing.

"Are you feeling OK?" He asked. "I heard you had to leave a class after feeling sick."

His genuine concern was written in bold and in capital letters across his face. She wanted to kiss him. The whole Foster clan was slowly sending her crazy. It was a beautiful insanity, however, especially when compared to the encroaching madness she felt from having her past opened.

"I'm fine, thank you," she responded.

She entered her room. It was empty – Mariana was sleeping over with a friend again. Jude was also out- staying at Connor's for the night. She stood in the middle of the room.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Brandon tapped away at his keyboards; his headphones on to avoid disturbing the rest of the house. He glanced to his side briefly and was startled to find Callie standing in his doorway, his old guitar held at her side. He took off his headphones.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said. "I was wondering...could we play something together?"

Brandon gave his mother's smile, although with a wholly different kindness and meaning behind it, and which had a whole different effect on the recipient. He ushered Callie in. He swiped some music scripts from a chair and offered it for her to sit on. "What did you want to play?"

"I don't know, you choose, but something upbeat, please."

During moments when his attention was on his fingers hitting the right keys, Callie observed Brandon. He was so beautiful. She half-convinced herself it was the music he produced so naturally, and the forbidden nature of their relationship, that attracted her – in truth, both were exquisitely painful, but the other half of her insanity dreamt of something wildly more inappropriate.

She desperately needed Ryan.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

In the middle of the night Callie woke up screaming. By the time Stef, Lena, Brandon and Jesus crowded almost at once into her room she was squeezed tightly into the corner of the room; a look of utter terror on her face, in her eyes. The look terrified Jesus, who looked around the room as though there was something in there which had caused the breakdown.

Lena sat on the bed and reached out to the stricken girl, who fanned out her arms on the wall and pressed herself back further into the corner.

After several minutes trying to extricate Callie from her cocoon, and eliciting only terrified frantic stares and, worse, screams, they realised they needed help and called for an ambulance.

As I watch the Sun go down,

and darkness comes to me,

all I want to do

is kiss you once goodbye

(Jimmy Sommerville)

To be continued.


	10. Ch 10 Callie and Home Number 8

**A/N: They say 'Everything is its own reward', but reviews would make me happy too.**

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter 10**

**Callie and Home No. 8 **

Callie counted to 100 in her head. Then she recited the alphabet. She mentally rattled off the names of everyone she knew. Anything to convince herself she wasn't crazy, despite what everyone was thinking. Despite being held in a room with no edges and no objects.

Anything to stop herself from falling asleep again.

The sedative they had forced on her in the ambulance and the top up since being placed in the hospital room was slowly wearing off. If she was insane, she was insane with anger; they had no right to pump her with drugs. "No right!" She shouted to the observation glass; to her own reflection in the two-way mirror. -_**Great, that helped my cause, didn't it**_.-

They had no right to inflict on her the one thing she hated above all else. She would avoid aspirin even.

At least they had untied her from her bed; released her arms and legs so she could stand and walk. Now the sedative was wearing off she could also **think** clearly. She knew she had woken up screaming in the Foster's house hours earlier; memories of home number eight having advanced to a state where she could not dispel the lightning flashes of memory by just opening her eyes.

But, she was OK now. They could let her out. Let her go...back to the Foster's house – again she didn't say 'home'. It was too heartbreakingly temporary to call it that. She could go back to Jude -_**Oh, my beautiful boy-**_ What must he be thinking? Did he know where she was now?

She paced the room like a zoo animal longing for the open plains; like a bird longing to fly beyond the cage it was confined to – because that what birds do!

Stef, Lena, Brandon and Jesus stood on the other side of the looking glass, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. Stef was still recovering from an attempt she had made to reach Callie an hour earlier. She had entered the room to find her strapped, arms and legs, to her bed. It had been necessary to prevent her thrashing when the doctor administered the sedative.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" She had asked.

"Let me come home with you," Callie had replied.

"Later, I promise, but not just yet."

"Then please untie these straps."

"Not yet."

"Then you're of no fucking use to me, are you?" Callie had then turned her face away from Stef.

To Stef's relief, Natasha entered the observation room behind her and broke her self torture. The young girl walked up to the glass and placed her hands on the cold surface; her eyes locked on her friend. She let tears come unhindered by embarrassment. Pulling herself from the scene she turned around to face Callie's current minders.

"What happened?" She asked. The others felt a tangible relief as though they were expecting 'what did you do?' instead, such was the unveiled accusation in Natasha's eyes and tone. To her surprise and the others as well, it was Brandon who recounted the night's horrors. Natasha's mood softened when she caught the sound of distress in his voice, and she then noticed the sleep-deprived concern in the eyes of the others. Even the younger brother, whose name she couldn't recall and who she had previously thought of as too young and frivolous to hold a serious thought, looked upset.

"Where's Jude?" Natasha asked.

"With a friend," Lena replied. "He was there last night, so doesn't know any of this is happening."

"Good. Only Callie should tell him, and only if she wants to." She turned back to the glass. It wasn't lost on the others how she was almost taking control of the situation on behalf of her friend. "Did she say anything...lucid?" She asked, whilst not taking her eyes of the Callie.

The others returned desperate, but blank stares.

"She did utter 'number 8' a couple of times," Jesus offered after several seconds of silence.

Natasha snapped round, a look of urgency on her face. "We need Ryan."

"We are not having him here," Lena said. "What are you doing?" She asked when Natasha took out her cell phone.

"I'm calling Ryan."

"I said..."

"Look at her," the younger woman interrupted pointing to the glass and the vision of Callie still pacing the room on the other side. "How long have you all been here and how long has she been doing that?" She didn't get a response and went into the hallway to dial Ryan's number. She re-entered the room shortly afterwards. "He'll be here in a couple of hours."

"How did you know his new address?" Stef asked.

"He gave it to Josh," Natasha replied. She walked back to the glass and minutes elapsed before she faced the others again. "Just what do you have against Ryan?" She asked suddenly and with a calmness – such as before a storm, should their response warrant it. She directed the question primarily at Lena as she sensed Stef was not as 'anti' as the vice principal, even if the policewoman had performed the act of expelling Callie's boyfriend.

"He's older than her and took advantage of her when she was vulnerable...when she was just 14!"

Natasha couldn't hold back from smiling. It was a brief and humourless show, however. "And I thought it was just because he slapped her last week."

"He hit her?" Brandon miss-repeated, shocked at the revelation.

"Wouldn't that be enough of a reason?" Lena directed at Natasha.

"From what Callie told me, you've taken it all out of context."

"There is no context!" Lena was exasperated and it took Stef's gentle placing of a hand on her arm to placate her. "Besides," she added more calmly, "he had sex with her when she was 14 and he was 16."

"No he didn't,"

"They been together for two years," Lena persisted.

"That means nothing. Callie had another boyfriend when she was 13. Are you saying she had sex with him as well?" The other woman had no response for that. "Ryan made Callie wait until she was 16, despite her longing to make love sooner. She would have slept with him on the night he rescued her from that home, but Ryan felt it wasn't time."

"What changed his mind?" Lena asked sarcastically.

"Callie. Ryan's father was...still is in jail. He was up for parole six months ago, but two days before the hearing he beat up a guard and had two years added to his sentence. If he fails future parole hearings, Ryan will be nearly 30 by the time his dad gets out."

"That's sad."

"That's not the sad part. Ryan was relieved. He had been dreading him being released and he was relieved that he wasn't. That devastated him – can you imagine the guilt he must have felt? Callie comforted him. What they both have...had isn't dysfunctional. It's beautiful."

"How do you know all this?" Lena asked.

"Callie told me."

"And you believe her?"

Lena's tone wasn't disparaging, but Natasha took it that way. "Why wouldn't I?" She asked heatedly. "I told **her** when **I** had sex and I **was** 14 at the time. Why would she lie to me?"

"Why didn't Ryan tell me all this?" Stef asked. "When I confronted him, why didn't he reveal all this?"

Natasha was openly incredulous, but opted instead to calm herself down. "Why would he? Please don't take this the wrong way. As much as I love all of you," she pointedly looked to Lena to include her, "and as much as I am eternally grateful for what you have done for Callie, it was none of your business."

"Then, why didn't he stay? Why didn't he argue his position?" Brandon asked.

Natasha was impressed by the questions. She knew he must have guessed the situation. She looked at Callie through the glass. She had stopped pacing and was sitting on a sofa, her head cradled in her hands. Natasha was heartbroken for her friend. "I think he saw it as a chance to...to break free. I think he's been looking for a reason to leave for a while now." She looked back at the Fosters. "It's not easy being her boyfriend," she admitted sadly. "It can be intense...disturbing. You've only had a couple of weeks with her and I'm sure you are...tired."

"She's worth it though," Brandon said with a passion causing his moms to look at him with shock, although they fervently agreed with his sentiment.

"Thank you," Natasha said. "She really is."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Ryan turned up nearly three hours later. He hugged Natasha. He eyed Stef and Lena defiantly, at first, but conceded their acceptance of his presence. He entered Callie's room and shut the door behind him. He slowly approached his...ex(?) partner. Apart from her initial sign of recognition, Callie just stared at him. She didn't move, but kept her protective posture; seated on the sofa, her legs held up to her chest and arms wrapped around them.

Ryan reached the sofa and she finally showed life through movement. She stretched her legs over the edge of the seat. She looked up, then stood and faced him. He placed a hand on her arm, causing her to flinch as though she had previously not believed he was real. Suddenly she wrapped herself around him and wept.

After several seconds, Callie's legs gave way and Ryan took her weight. She stood unaided again and kissed him passionately; the intensity increased each second it lasted. She ran her finger nails down his back, then gripped his shoulders tight. She suddenly stopped and pulled herself away from him in horror.

"You've been drinking," her voice broke.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"I never went anywhere!" Callie stepped back. Ryan looked away. "We promised: no drugs; no alcohol. The thrill and the hurting was all we needed."

"I was going mad with worry..."

"Then, why did you leave me?" Callie asked, near to tears. "They strapped me to a bed! They strapped me to a bed and injected drugs into me every time I showed any emotion. I still sedated now; I feel the poison in my veins," she scratched at her arms when saying it. Ryan took her back into his arms. "I couldn't move. I couldn't think straight."

They stood for the next couple of minutes until Ryan felt able to ask. "What happened, Callie?"

She stepped back slightly, but retained her hold of him. "I dreamt of him again." Ryan knew who she meant. "He nearly caught me this time. I was only half way up the stairs and he grabbed for my leg and only just missed and I stumbled and he grabbed again and I made it to the top and he grabbed for me again and I reached the bathroom and..."

"It was only a dream," Ryan interrupted the increasingly manic recounting. "A nightmare only. He never reached you, did he? Not then, he didn't."

"But, he was so close this time."

"It was a nightmare. He never caught you and he never will, you know that. You know he's dead and can never get you."

"But he keeps chasing me. Every night."

"I'm here now, like I was back then, remember?"

"You rescued me." Callie rested her head on Ryan's chest and allowed him to lower her back to the sofa, where she laid down and eventually fell asleep curled up.

When he was satisfied she was resting un-haunted, Ryan stood up and left the room to speak to the audience behind the glass. He looked at them defiantly. "I want to take her home."

"OK," Stef agreed. "The doctor says she can be released. You can follow us on your bike."

"No," Ryan interrupted. "I want to take her back to our apartment. Just for tonight," he added quickly when he watched the two moms silently consider the demand between themselves with a series of looks. "We can all meet up again tomorrow morning, if Callie is better. Then we have somewhere to go...all of us"

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Brandon gave her music.

Wyatt gave her words; ridiculous prose and poetry bordering on pretentious and marvellous.

Lena took her confessions and gave her absolution without the need for repentance. Stef allowed her to rage against the world while crying in her arms.

Callie felt she was drowning in a sea of gold dust while she still lay in her bed, Ryan asleep alongside her.

And it was all temporary.

It was still more dark than light, but Callie lay in bed awake. She took a deep breath and expelled it. It was so much easier when she used to be able to hate everyone instead of having two separate lists to work from. The constant anger she felt was exhausting. It made her cry. But, hate had been easy. Pure. Only Natasha and Ryan and, perhaps, Josh had been worth positive thought.

With Natasha she could spend hours railing against the world and enjoy the catharsis it afforded. The same with Ryan – better even. Once the two of them exhausted their repertoire of hate, they always ended up having sex; passionate and extreme – the thrill and the hurting. The fact she no longer said 'made love' was not lost on her, but not missed either. She could remember loving Ryan; how it felt loving him. A beautiful release. The best of obsessions. It was never hero- worship, although gratitude **had** played a part. Ryan noticed when she was unhappy, was in pain, distress. And, instead of taking her by the hand and offering useless comfort, he shared his similar experiences so she never felt she was unique in her suffering.

She could fall into his arms, a thunderclap exploding, and rain down her emotions on him like a summer storm. And, wake the next day fresh as a flower opening to the sun in joyous relief, having survived the deluge.

But, while she felt she was going slowly and unflatteringly mad, after having given voice to her past to the Fosters, was she truly still suffering. Was clinging to Ryan still necessary? Still safe? Did he still want or need **her**?

Brandon and Wyatt had shown her there were other types of relationships open to her. Even if the former was forbidden on pain of expulsion from Paradise – even Paradise had rules. Even if the latter had a ring of too-good-to-be-true about it.

Even if both were temporary.

The night had not been nightmare-free, but her sub-conscious now reasoned with her that nightmares were not real. This only made her cringe with embarrassment and shame when she thought of her breakdown the previous night, and the desperate fear of the nights before that, since she had dredged up the memories to the Fosters. Of course, she now had Ryan alongside her; his body heat, the sound of his breathing, the static electricity that lingered when he moved causing a momentary break in skin contact.

She had wanted them to both make love as soon as they got to their apartment, but he had insisted she needed the rest; that it wasn't appropriate. She wished the reason he pushed her away was due to his beautiful, infuriating need to be a gentleman, but knew this time it was different. She knew she should be heartbroken, but she was just sad instead and waited for him to wake up.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Stef, Lena and Brandon arrived later that morning. Mariana was still at her friends and Jesus was asked to wait for Jude's return from Connor's. Callie climbed on behind Ryan on his motorbike and they rode off with the others following in Stef's car.

After driving for 20 minutes they pulled up outside a boarded-up average-sized detached house in the more run down area of the city. The boards had been loosened and, in places, removed – likely by squatters or curious locals. Callie relinquished her grip on Ryan, which had up until then got gradually tighter the nearer they had got to the building. She hoisted herself of the bike and stood looking up at the property. Ryan was quick to stand alongside her and she was grateful for his arm around her, although she realised she did not need it as much as she thought she would.

The Fosters climbed out of their car. Stef looked worried – almost alarmed even.

"Callie, I remember this house. I was asked to stand guard behind yellow tape to ensure no one entered."

Callie tilted her head in understanding. "That's helpful. This is likely to be easier than I thought."

Lena and Brandon looked to Stef confused and curious. "There was a murder here and a suicide, two years ago, or just over two years. I remember overhearing detectives say there may have been a third person, but he or she was unknown...Callie, are you saying you was that person?"

"I did go to the police in eventually...Ryan made me," she said matter-of-factly. "It should be in the final report."

"Police officers don't get to see such reports," Stef added, then looked over to Callie. "My God, you were here. I saw the scene – downstairs and upstairs. The blood, that is, not the actual bodies; they'd been taken away by then. It was...horrifying. I couldn't hold down food for days afterwards."

"I remember that time," Lena added.

Callie walked forward and towards the house, stopping at the front gate, or where the gate used to be. Ryan kept alongside her.

"How bad was it?" Brandon asked.

Callie was annoyed at the question. "What, d'you want me to grade it from one to ten? Will six be OK, but a seven be bad?"

She and Ryan stepped into the front garden. Brandon followed; a reluctant Stef and Lena behind.

"Breaking Bad," Callie said after a couple of awkward minutes.

"Sorry?" Brandon asked.

"You asked me how bad it was. It was 'Breaking Bad' bad."

Stef and Lena finally climbed through the gap in the boarding over the front door to join the others standing at the base of the stairs and beside a door on the left, leading through to the dining room and the kitchen beyond, and a further door on the right leading to a living room. Callie began unprompted.

"I came home late after school, having been with Natasha that evening. The house was dark. I assumed Rachel – that was her name, had gone to bed. I was hungry, so walked through to the kitchen. I didn't turn on the light for some reason. I slipped on the floor when I got there and landed painfully on my backside. My hands were...wet and I dreaded what mess I had fallen in – we had a dog and I assumed the worst. I soon realised what I was feeling was thick...viscous? Not runny, I mean. It was then that my night sight kicked in and I saw Rachel lying on the floor and blood...everywhere." Brandon made to approach Callie. She stepped back; physical contact at that time would cause her to stall in the retelling.

"I screamed. Just once, I seem to remember. I tried to stand up twice, but slipped both times on the pool of blood. I was successful the third time. I backed away from Rachel and into the dining room. I was in shock so only moved slowly to the front door. When I got there a man emerged from the living room. He was holding a kitchen knife in his hands." She faced the relevant door as she said it. "I swear we must have stared at each other for seconds – me in terror, he...curious...surprised to see me. He didn't live there, so we'd never met before then. Eventually I screamed and clambered on hands and knees up the stairs. He followed a second later. I remember feeling the breeze he created every time he made to grab my feet from under me. I got to the top of the stairs and dived into the bathroom opposite and locked myself in. I heard him reach the top and then slump down against the other side of the door. I screamed again, but **he** didn't say a word.

After what seemed like ages, but apparently was only minutes I heard a voice calling my name. Then heard someone try the door handle. It took me a long time before I realised it was Ryan – I had forgotten he was coming round that night. He eventually got me to open the door and told me to close my eyes before he carried me down the stairs and took me back to his apartment."

Lena went to hug Callie, but she moved away. It was not meant as an intentional snub, however, and she smiled at her. "I stayed in Ryan's apartment for a week. I never stepped out of the door. Eventually he convinced me to go to the police, who treated me as a trauma victim, then to the children's' home, who were suitably... contrite." Callie said the last with damning sarcasm.

Stef clinically surveyed the house. "I heard that the woman had previously been involved in drugs, but had successfully detoxed. It was supposed that her ex-partner had come round looking for money and...everything deteriorated from there. After killing Rachel he killed himself on the landing outside the bathroom."

"How was you allowed to be fostered by someone with a drug history?" Brandon asked for everyone.

"This explains the letter in your file," Lena said to Callie.

Callie put on a sour expression. "I've read it. I know it off by heart.

_It is of course very regrettable that incorrect information was given by the authorities concerned. _

_However, I cannot see this as a case where the rules operate harshly so as to justify special treatment outside of the rules, were that possible..._

It goes on like that, but you get the gist. Can we leave now?"

They all bent themselves through the broken front door and emerged back into the open. Callie looked up, half lost, exhausted and feeling as if she'd been held underwater. Stef walked up to her and was finally allowed to put an arm around her, and they both walked to the end of the garden path to the public highway.

Callie looked back at the house, then to the buildings either side and along the road. "This is why I hate suburbia. I remember reading reports in the papers. Everybody seemed to assume the role of 'surprised neighbour' when they were interviewed. 'But he was such a sweet man.' 'I never believed he could do such a thing.' etc. For all they knew, I could have been locked in the basement for years."

Stef couldn't agree more; she had seen more horrors than Callie as a result of her job. But, she had never truly experienced anything bad, beyond a divorce and a disapproving father. "They say you gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'"

Callie smiled. "I'd rather not have a 'next thing' if that's OK." Experience may be a good school, she thought, but the fees were high.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The Fosters gathered by the car while Callie stood apart with Ryan by his motor bike.

"When do you need to get back?" She asked.

Ryan looked down at her. She asked the question again, but wordlessly with a raise of her eyebrows.

"Tomorrow," he replied. "I work every other Sunday. I could call in sick."

"No, you'd better go." They both knew it was over, after all, so why extend it. Callie looked away. She stroked her hand over the leather seat of Ryan's bike. "Lena said out relationship was dysfunctional," she said without turning around.

"I'd say we were very functional." Callie smiled and turned to him. She kissed him on the cheek. "Will you be OK?" He asked.

"I'll be fine." She looked back at the house. "Now, I'll be fine. I won't be 'Rolling in the Deep', admittedly, but otherwise I'll be OK." she smiled, looking into his eyes.

"Wyatt seems a nice guy," Ryan said.

"Oh yeah, he's a big hit with everyone," Callie laughed.

"He needs a haircut, though."

"Doesn't he just?"

"What about Brandon?"

"Good grief, will you go already." Callie slapped him on the back in mock anger. He smiled. She smiled.

Ryan climbed on his bike and put on his crash helmet. "Call me," he said.

"I will. And if I need you again, I'll shine the bat signal in the sky."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie approached Stef's car. "Do you have room for another in there?"

Brandon opened the back seat and she climbed in alongside him.

To be continued.


	11. Ch 11 Callie two point zero

**A/N: This is the final chapter. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. **

**This is probably my last Fosters story. It's been a blast.**

**Be happy and be well.**

**The Love and the Anger**

**Chapter 11**

**Callie 2.0 **

It was only a sunny smile,

and little did it cost in the giving,

but like morning light

it scattered the night

and made the day worth living.

(F Scott Fitzgerald)

"SURPRISE!"

"Oh fuck," Callie let out after being scared half to death on being confronted by a host of impossibly happy people in the kitchen. She caught Stef raise her eyebrows. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I mean...I'm sorry."

Jesus laughed out loud and Natasha giggled like a child. "You," Callie said pointing to her friend accusingly, "This is your doing."

"Hey, don't look at me," Natasha responded in between holding back tears. She was enjoying this far to much. "I was going to take you somewhere and get you high on caffeine and sugar. It was this little villain." She placed her hand on Jude's head. He smiled in triumph.

"Happy birthday, Callie," Lena said and walked up and enveloped her in a hug. This was followed by Stef and Jude and the Foster siblings. Callie felt a bit self conscious to be hugged by Jesus and Brandon. The latter looked suitably embarrassed, which she confessed to herself was quite enjoyable _**it's my party and I'll have unsuitable thoughts if I want to**_.

"Presents!" Jude suddenly shouted.

"I'd thought we'd eat first," Lena said. "Aren't you hungry, Callie?"

The birthday girl saw through the ruse even though it took her several seconds to realise Jude was talking about **her** presents and not someone else's. "I'm starving. I agree, let's do presents afterwards."

"Callie!" Her brother protested.

"Oh, all right then if you insist."

Brandon approached Callie and held out a carefully wrapped parcel. "This is from all of us," he indicated the Fosters. Callie wondered whether they had drawn lots for him to be the presenter...and did he win or lose? He stood back, again looking awkward. "Are you OK?" She asked with her best dead pan expression.

"Don't worry about him," Jesus shouted from behind. "He's still in shock after realising he isn't the eldest any more." That wasn't it, but she played on that anyway to rescue him.

Callie carefully pealed back the cello-tape and unfurled each corner slowly.

"Good grief, Callie the paper is going in the recycle bin afterwards. Be ruthless." Everyone looked at the older woman. The Fosters laughed and Callie sensed this was one of Stef's quirks. Christmas must be fun, she thought.

She finally revealed the box beneath the wrapping; a shiny unbelievable Apple iPhone. She stared at it. She was sure this cost the same as all her other belongings combined. Awe inspiring seemed too solemn a word. "Wow," she chose instead. She stared at it some more.

"Speechless, Callie?" Stef said. "But, you were so...enthusiastic a few minutes ago." She smiled.

Callie looked up at her. "Thank you." She took in the attention of Lena then the siblings. "Thank you." She couldn't think straight enough to come up with anything more profound, and held the present to her chest lovingly.

"You're very welcome," Lena rescued her.

"Yeah, well you can put it down for now," Natasha said. "It won't fly away. This is from me." She handed Callie an envelope and stood back a step, her hands behind her back. Callie opened it and found three concert tickets. "It's for a local band we both follow," Natasha explained to the others, "called Sound Advice. We're their groupies and they always allow us back stage afterwards."

Stef and Lena exchanged glances, which the two young women noticed.

"Will you stop scaring my foster parents," Callie admonished her friend.

"Hey, who said a parent's rite of passage had to be easy?" Natasha said with a wicked glint in her eye.

Callie handed one ticket to Natasha, who held up her hand. "That's OK, me and Josh already have our own."

"Why did you buy me three then?" Callie was curious.

"I though you might have trouble deciding which one to invite, so you can take both now," she smiled wickedly. Callie went crimson and mouthed _'stop it'_ in horror, but couldn't hold back a smile completely. She felt blissfully relieved she had her back to Brandon.

"My turn!" Jude pushed past Natasha and handed his sister an A4-sized almost flat item.

"Did you both want to go outside and open it?" Lena asked.

"No, That's OK," Jude replied for both of them.

Callie was curious. She opened the gift to reveal a framed piece of paper with a verse neatly handwritten on it. She read it...then read it again. She put a hand to her mouth. Her eyes glassed over. She looked to Lena and Stef. "Can I...can we go outside for a bit?" She asked.

Lena nodded her head. Callie lovingly placed the frame on the kitchen table and took Jude by the hand. They walked into the hallway and out of the back door and into the garden. Lena watched them out of the window. Stef walked up and stood alongside her partner. They saw Callie get down onto her knees, look up into Jude's eyes and then pull him into a hug.

Lena was by now crying. "What was that all about?" Stef asked, overcome by the wordless scene in the garden and shocked at her partner's reaction.

"Read the damn frame," Lena said between tears of joy.

Stef turned around and reached for Jude's present. She read the verse...then read it again. "Ohmysweetgoodness."

Brandon held out his hand and Stef passed it to him. To everyone else's infinite relief, he read out loud the verse.

_The life that I have_

_is all that I have,_

_and the life that I have _

_is yours._

_The love that I have_

_for the life that I have_

_is yours and your and yours._

_A sleep I shall have._

_A rest I shall have._

_Yet death will be but a pause._

_For the place of my years_

_in the long green grass_

_will be yours and yours and yours._

-/-/-/-/-/-

Callie watched her brother disappear beyond the top of the stairs and listened for his door to close. She then re-entered the kitchen to where Stef and Lena were still seated. She noted how they always lingered in that room until everyone had gone to bed. Callie looked at the two moms. She wanted to say so much, but felt unable to voice her emotions. She must learn to do so. She had existed on hate and anger for the first part of her life, with love reserved for Ryan and Natasha alone. The concept of her life entering a new half, or a new stage at least, now that Jude was part of it, had only just occurred to her.

"I told you he loved you," Lena said, as if reading her thoughts.

"Your life is different now," Stef added.

They were both mind readers! Was this what all parents did to their kids? Wrong-foot them; second-guess them; know everything they thought and did – often before they thought and did it...care for their physical and emotional well-being? She could get used to this.

"Do you feel different to before?" Stef asked.

Callie did. Her former life was another world to her now. "It was creepy," she replied. "Everything I used to try and avoid, I became. I told lies, became secretive. I felt like a junkie; like an alcoholic. I would wake up every morning after the day before, after the day before that, counting off a mental calender from the day Jude was taken away from me. Every morning I wanted the day to end straight away. When it didn't, I sought ways to make time pass. Anger and...physical contact are great time fillers."

Callie sat down on one of the kitchen stools. She was grateful for the banter since it avoided her having to openly express her thoughts – her overwhelming gratitude and sense of...ease. In a quiet moment in the conversation, however, she found to her horror that she was crying – not weeping, but just tears flowing unexpectedly and...unhindered.

-/-/-/-/-/-

It was a profoundly beautiful evening; a week since her birthday. Callie felt a breeze caress her skin, pass through her – atomic particles on a journey. They tweaked her nervous system. She felt an electric surge pulse up her spine and her cheeks tingle. It was a pleasant surprise – a physical response to a beautiful day, an almost sexual ecstasy. She looked around guiltily; awkwardly self-conscious and laughed at her one-track mind. Still, she had read somewhere that the average male thought about sex every five minutes.

Callie realised where she had been going wrong all this time; you could not compare life now with what had gone before. If things were better now just because yesterday was worse, it made life a constant battle to attain a happiness measured on past regret. Regret was a wasted emotion, as if time could ever be revised. She smiled. She was high on euphoria and swung around like a kindergarten school girl trying to make herself dizzy. She toppled over and lay on her back on dew-damp grass. Some epiphanies were so embarrassing - revealing of the obvious, it was no wonder people chose to ignore the lessons they taught and carry on regardless. Callie decided to break the cycle this time. After all, life's offerings of beauty were little more than decoration if, through them, she did not set free her demons.

The river she had travelled on may have been stained with blood along the way, but the banks contained education, sunny days. She had: made a good friend in Natasha; fallen in love with Ryan; read a host of wonderful books; maintained a basic goodness. Continued to dream.

She had read so many fantasy novels, all she could get her hands on; to immerse herself in worlds more wonderful, or to experience, albeit second hand, challenges which always ended happily despite the enormous trials the heroines went through. Now, however, she wanted to enjoy the roses in bloom here and now rather than dream of a magical rose garden elsewhere.

Things were not perfect, she knew. Wyatt liked her more than she perhaps liked him...perhaps. Brandon liked her more than a foster brother should and vice verse. Good grief, it was hardly an onerous position to be in – having two boys to contend with. And she had two spare tickets, after all. Jude...she perhaps finally knew where she stood with her brother. She chose to be positive, even if she failed to see her own all-encompassing devotion emanate from him, she at least had him close. The lack of complete love from him was heartbreaking, but his presence was a salve to heal any wound. And there was the poem...

She might not attain true happiness this week, or this year, nor perhaps until she was much older. After all, dreams came true because they should and not because they are caused to. But she had begun.

Stef stood out of Callie's view. She watched her charge in her revelry. She was lost in the vision. She saw a beautiful young woman laid out on the grass coming to terms with her past. Callie seemed to sense her presence. She rolled onto her front to look up the gentle incline.

"Hi, Stef," she said happily.

The foster mom was momentarily struck dumb by the wide smile which lit up Callie's face – so rare from her. Callie's cheeks blushed where a paleness normally resided. She held up her hand. Stef took hold and pulled her up.

"Take me home."

end.


End file.
